Lonely Hour
by jakey121
Summary: "Lost time is never found again." Welcome to the 60th Hunger Games!
1. Jealous Life

**Chapter One.**

* * *

**Lonely Hour;  
The 60****th**** Hunger Games.**

* * *

**Prologue, Part One.**

* * *

Teanna took hold of her mother's hand, pulling her into the gift shop. It was a three-floored extravaganza, a fan's dream land, a paradise for the eager Capitolite. It was barely past opening time, yet kids rushed in, tugging unwilling parents through the doors and onto the shop floor, breaking apart to explore Victor heaven.

"Mummy!" Teanna pulled harder, past someone she recognised from school, heading for the toy stand. "Mummy I want that one!" She threw a finger at the stack of cardboard boxes, showing a brand new range of Victor dolls. She could see little Kennedy Ames near the bottom, a Tallis Altier doll being stocked to the right. Most of them were of the pretty blondes from One, the tributes everyone idolized, but Teanna wanted Tallis.

She was her favourite.

Teanna wasn't sure why, but she was, and in her childish mind, reasons didn't matter. Her mother took the doll in her hand, checked the price tag, bit back a sigh, and nodded her head for her eager, doe-eyed little girl.

One of the televisions hanging above the shoppers started to show some of the recent footage of a past Hunger Games. Teanna didn't know what was really going on, and her mother kept tilting her head back down to face the floor whenever something happened on screen she wasn't supposed to see. Teanna didn't understand much to do with the Games, only that some of the people that went in didn't come out, and that the kids called Victors were strong, pretty and the kind of person she wanted to grow up to be like.

She giggled when a young boy zipped past her, carrying in his hands a t-shirt with another Victor's face on. It was madness inside the shop, the workers had already gone from happy smiles to tired frowns in a few minutes, herding kids around who wanted to know where certain Victor memorabilia was, and calming down angry parents looking at price tags and throwing their hands up in a huff.

For Teanna, however, none of that mattered.

She had a Tallis doll in her mother's hands, and she hadn't spent all her birthday money just yet. She could picture the other dolls at home, the little tea set she had, and immediately knew what she wanted next.

"Is that all dear?" She felt her mother's soft, gentle hand on the top of her blonde curls. It wasn't though, nothing was ever enough for Teanna. She was in a place she rarely got to go, only once a year, and she was barely past four years old, which meant she hadn't been around for long anyway.

So many Victors. So many Games. So many dolls to collect and shirts and mugs and posters and… _I want it all! _She beamed at her mother, pulled her hand towards another shelf and around to the back of the store.

"Come on darling, your father's waiting at home. We've got your friends coming round-"

"But _mummy!_" She shook her head, forcefully, sticking her bottom lip out and stamping her foot. She knew she'd done all she had to do. Immediately her mother caved and Teanna giggled, clapping her hands and weaving in and out of crowds of kids she'd willingly fight against if she had to get what she wanted.

_Maybe I'm only four. But who cares?! I'd volunteer if I was allowed._

A four year old Victor.

She could easily be the first!

"Ladies and gentlemen. Ever wondered what it would be like to be in your very own Hunger Games? Well, think no further. Introducing our new top of the line virtual headsets, you can now be your very own favourite tribute-" Teanna didn't need to listen to anymore. _I can be a tribute! _Her jaw dropped open. The pretty little bib for her teddy bear, the one with Bronte Allain's face on, vanished from her mind.

Just like that, Teanna's brand new obsession erupted from her in the form of a shrill, excited shriek. She clapped her hands and leaped into the air. Other kids looked just as pumped to experience fighting in their very own Games, but Teanna's grumpy, spoilsport mother gave her a look that told her otherwise.

They passed a range of cushions and duvet sets with a blonde boy's face on, messy hair around a handsome face, a weird, enticing smirk curled into his cheeks. Teanna didn't know who he was, but she caught a flash of what he looked like and immediately wanted to find out his name.

She loved everything to do with the Games. Not just the Victors, but the Arenas, the tributes that didn't make it out – wherever they went – and the celebrations the Capitol threw for the entire festivity.

This shop was her favourite place in the whole wide world, however.

And her mummy was ruining it!

"Let's pay for your doll and leave," Teanna hit her mother's wrist away, but she kept a firm grip despite her weak punches, and shook her head forcefully. "We didn't raise you this way. Stop it and do as you're told."

"It's my birthday money. You ruin _everything!"_

She kicked out, her mother shrieked out loud, letting the Tallis doll fall from her fingers. Teanna scooped it up and fled from the scene, dodging a curious looking worker in a red waistcoat and up an escalator to another floor.

She'd now entered where they sold the picture books of some of the Victors. She quickly lost herself amongst the shelves, keeping an eye on the entranceway in case her mother turned up, and one eye on everything that she passed. _There's just so much. I want to live here! _The second her mother calmed down and said sorry, maybe she'd ask.

It'd be nice, never having to move away from what she loved, having everything she'd ever wanted here, in her very own house.

First, though, her mind raced back to the announcement.

Somewhere amongst this vast paradise of a shopping centre, they were letting the kids relive past Games. It had always been her dream, to really see what they were like, not just watching the tributes go in and her favourite come out.

It had always been her favourite who left.

Kennedy.

Tallis.

They were so perfect.

She made her way up a flight of stairs, reaching the very top, and there she bumped into the back of a queue that was forming. Her heart skipped an excited beat, her eyes looking up and down, catching sight of a neon sign that flashed beautiful blues and reds across the crowd. She couldn't read what it said, but it must have been good.

_I'm doing it._

_I'm going to be a tribute._

She jumped up again, kicking her feet together, and felt a hand clamp on her shoulder.

"Teanna." Her smile fell. She turned, looked up into her mother's eyes, and tried to put up another fight. This time it didn't work, her mother was ready.

They left without the Tallis doll.

It was her punishment.

_All I want to do is become a tribute. _It wasn't fair. She envied the Districts. They had everything they could possibly want – an actual way into the Arena.

They had a chance at becoming a Victor.

Having a doll based on them.

There would never be a Teanna doll out, ready to be bought and played with.

_It's just not fair._

She hated her life.

She hated everything about it.

* * *

**Hello again! I've reached that point, once more, where I'm ready to publish the next story in my canon series. So, **_**Lonely Hour**_**, is the fourth in a row, starting from **_**Madhouse, Beyond the Veil **_**and **_**Flesh and Blood. **_

**The third one hasn't finished yet, but I published that around the time **_**Beyond the Veil **_**reached somewhere between halfway and the final ten, so by the time submissions close for this, I'll have nearly completed that story (which is crazy 'cause it was only published like 2 months ago, eh, whatever).**

**Yeah, so you all know the drill. Guidelines and what not are on my profile, the form, no. of males/females etc. Leave a review if you can, submit if you can (and want to, of course) and we'll go from there. In three weeks time the next prologue will be up, and then everything will start from the beginning again.**

**See you all then!**


	2. Secrets

**Chapter Two.**

* * *

**Prologue, Part Two.**

* * *

The table was set.

Teanna placed her teddy bear in the highest seat, a chair of honour for her plush, pink friend. Everyone seemed ready and eager for the party to begin, staring up at the young girl with beady, black plastic eyes full of love and admiration.

These were the only friends she needed in the world. And the only friends she was bound to get, if her mother didn't stop moving her around the Capitol, school after school, because she _didn't fit in. _Well, this year, it would be all about fighting against her.

She'd had enough.

Her birthday troubles were the last straw. Instead of playing with air and make belief fairy dust, Teanna poured out from a cup some of her mother's favourite tea, giggling proudly as each delicate piece of china was filled to the brim. With a satisfied nod of her head, she sat back into her own place round the table and clapped her hands together.

"Enjoy!"

They all came to life. Other people didn't see things the way she did, but other people were stupid, so they didn't matter. Mr Teddy Bear seemed to be deep in conversation with a fat little animal to his left. Teanna watched, mother to them all, friend to each and every one, and picked up the remote control by her side.

With a little help, she'd _borrowed _the boy from next door's tiny little television set. His secret one. Now it was Teanna's and she'd do the very thing her mother didn't want her doing. The one thing Teanna had promised her, no matter what, she'd never do. She could pretend all she wanted that her toys were real, she could be a little bit of a handful in any shop, ignore her mother's annoying worries with money. The one rule, the golden rule, set for the little girl: Teanna would not watch what everyone else adored.

This year, she would.

This year, she'd watch The Hunger Games.

Her mother could do and say whatever she wanted. This would be Teanna's secret. All she'd wanted was to watch them, ever since the first time she'd seen one of the Victors paraded round the Capitol. Now, she would. This year would be the year.

She couldn't wait.

She really couldn't.

* * *

**The tribute list is below. I'd like to take a moment to quickly apologise to everyone that wasn't accepted. I've rejected a lot of tributes I actually really liked. Most of those I rejected were mainly if I had another tribute really similar, or a character type I didn't need anymore of. So I apologise for that as well.**

**But hey, one good thing you can take from this is that you now have a completed form to submit elsewhere! Anyway, yeah apologies to those not accepted, and congratulations to those that have been. I've got another great group of tributes which I'm excited for!**

* * *

**Tribute List**

**District One:**

Male- Prosper Livingston _(felicitea)_

Female- Luella Aslett _(Sunlight Comes Creeping In)_

**District Two:**

Male- Belarius Orleans _(Chaos In Her Wake)_

Female- Aurelie Bauden _(DA Member Hogwarts)_

**District Three:**

Male- Cillian Garnier _(bobothebear)_

Female- Rell Arlington _(Liquidation)_

**District Four:**

Male- Ivo Koehn _(Burning Stars)_

Female- Darina Pallone _(Cashmere67)_

**District Five:**

Male- Marshall Kilbourne _(JGrayzz)_

Female- Varity Sparks _(Remus98)_

**District Six:**

Male- Ryon Blythe _(Sovereign2)_

Female- Adrina Lear _(Aspect of One)_

**District Seven:**

Male- Garner Verbeck _(District11-Olive)_

Female- Eveny Audori _(nevergone4ever)_

**District Eight:**

Male- Dante Madsen _(SomeDays)_

Female- Kira Vinstra _(Call Me Fin)_

**District Nine:**

Male- Alaric Benatti _(LokiThisIsMadness)_

Female- Vallah Marchant _(GlimmerIcewood)_

**District Ten:**

Male- Dominic Larson _(Munamana)_

Female- Scyla Dericen _(The Knife Throwing Expert)_

**District Eleven:**

Male- Carson Perrett _(Lupus Overkill)_

Female- Neimera Harlen _(Foxface5)_

**District Twelve:**

Male- Lucas Roux _(Jalen Kun)_

Female- Acacia Grey _(A M4D TE4-P4RTY)_

* * *

**The blog link is up on my profile! Go check it out. Also a few new Victors have been added to my Victor's blog, so if you're interested, there's that as well.**

* * *

_**Favourites from the blog and why?**_

_**Least favourites from the blog and why?**_

* * *

**And there you have it, the tributes for Lonely Hour!**

**I have a couple of chapters left for Flesh and Blood, but that won't impact my update schedule for this story. Not that I have much of a schedule. One update a week at the minimum, but anyone who read Flesh and Blood knows it could be two or three, so who knows.**

**This prologue is a lot shorter but hey, no one cares about the second prologue, it's only there to provide a place for the tribute list and blog.**

**Anyway, another apology to everyone who wasn't accepted, I really mean it!**

**See you with the first of the pre-reapings!**


	3. Existence is Ours

**Chapter Three.**

* * *

**Pre-Reapings, Part One.**

* * *

**Darina Pallone, 18 years old;  
District Four Female.**

* * *

She wanted to focus. That was it – focus, practice, train. Today was the day, after all, _her _special day. No one else could take it away from her, it had all been decided, all been planned, the paperwork registered with her family, the word spread throughout the District.

Darina was the chosen volunteer. She couldn't be happier, standing in the Academy on the morning of the Reaping, her favourite weapon in her hand, poised to demonstrate exactly why she had been chosen. It hadn't been a mistake, like some people joked. No one had slipped the Head Trainer some dirty narcotic or spiked his morning drink. She had been chosen – she was proud, of herself, of what she'd achieved. No one could take it away from her.

Not even her best friend.

Theina raised her own spear in her hand, arching a competitive eyebrow in Darina's direction, a playful smirk testing the waters with the friend to her left. "On three?"

"On three," Darina smirked back, thoroughly invested in perfecting herself. She wouldn't show herself up, especially not in front of the other trainers, younger than her mostly, or the few her age who were too egocentric to give up the hunt for glory. Of course they wouldn't out-stage her today. _Right? _

No, no they wouldn't. Of course not.

"Three," Theina said, raising her elbow.

"Two," Darina spread her feet shoulder width apart, twisting her hips ever so slightly round.

"One."

Both spears went through the air, a whistle catching in the breeze, and a thud as they sunk into their corresponding targets. Darina followed hers until it pierced the bull's-eye. _Yes! _She fist-pumped the air, laughing out loud and clapping her hands. When she saw Theina's spear had only punctured the little red ring outside of the centre, she pouted and frowned sympathetically.

Not that she really felt sympathetic, but her friend was still her friend. She felt bad. She felt good. She felt everything all at once.

"Aw," Darina walked up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You have a year, Theina. Don't worry. You have it in you, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Before Theina could smile, or punch her away playfully, or even so much as breathe in response, a sharp, distinctive, irritatingly sweet voice cut through their conversation.

"You're taking advice from her? Darina. Darina Pallone? Of all people."

The moment Theina's eyes travelled past her shoulder, focusing on whatever ignorant stain on life had stepped up, Darina clenched her fists, composed herself, and turned to face a trio of girls all standing in front of her, arms crossed round their chests like they owned the place.

Darina wouldn't lose herself, not today, not ever. Especially with what this very afternoon meant for her. People could try to get to her – but no, not today. _Not today._

"Lovely to see you too, Palema."

"We aren't friends, _bitch._" She stepped up to Darina's face, breaking a boundary everyone set for themselves. A very comfortable personal bubble. Nose to nose, Darina smiled politely and shook her hair free from her shoulders. Sweaty or not from training, she wouldn't look tired, or weak, or anything in front of some envious wannabe. She was good enough – she had to be, to be chosen, to throw a perfect shot, to even be in this very room.

If someone wanted to get to her, let them. Let them try. Let them fail. Let them come again and again. _So what?_

"Is it hard, for once in your wonderful existence, to try and not call someone such a foul word? There are other ways of addressing your peers."

"There are other people here who deserve your spot. My sister was left in the dark over you?" She scoffed, stepping back, a snarl curling into her cheeks. "What the fuck makes you so special?"

Darina could feel herself losing it. No matter how hard she told herself that things like this didn't matter, that words were just words and she was the best with them, there was always that one individual who clawed their way in on the worst possible time. Not on her special day, she would not lose what had mattered so much to her.

Her fingers clenched and unclenched again. A fist formed, a fist she wanted to throw in this pathetic insane girl's face, but a fist she felt held back by Theina, the moment restrain threatened to fall apart.

"That's right. Too scared. That's what I thought. Good luck in there Pallone, try to die quietly."

The second they turned, Darina stepped forwards. Her hair didn't matter to her at that moment, no matter how grimy it looked hanging in front of her eyes, all sweaty from practice. It didn't matter. She was good enough, she always had been, and she would not just sit back and take shit when she could do something about it.

"Next year, don't even bother trying." She stepped up, a confident smile replacing the caustic frown on her face. "Failure must run in the family. _Bitch._" She tilted her head with a laugh and turned back to face Theina, high-fiving her friend, ignoring the muttered curses behind her. The threats. The nonsense.

For a second, she felt awkward, the laughs ceasing at the back of her throat. She'd lost it a little – given up time to train in favour of putting someone in their place. She didn't want people to think they could get to her so much, or that she undervalued herself so much she had to validate herself amongst her peers.

She _was _good enough.

She was.

No one could tell her otherwise. In the Arena, in a week or so, she'd prove it to everyone. Glory, fame, whatever the reason, she had it in the bag, she always had done. Other people didn't matter, as long as she believed.

And she did believe.

She really did.

* * *

**Varity Sparks, 15 years old;  
District Five Female.**

* * *

Reaping day made Varity's perception of Five that much stronger.

It was a bleak place, cast under a level of smog that never seemed to lift. If the sun existed, which some people seriously doubted – joke or not – it didn't care for them. It suited Varity just fine. Better than fine, really.

Under a thick, baggy jacket and woollen scarf, she made her way through the chilly streets of her home District, weaving in and out of various groups littered here and there. She didn't care for them, not one bit. Though eavesdropping on what idiotic drivel they had to spout on this day in particular happened to be a highlight most years, this year, she felt different.

This year she actually had somewhere to be. Every other day of every other goddamn year, work never seemed to let up except on the Reaping. It'd give her time to think, or judge, or whatever she wanted to do. Now, though, she made it up a flight of concrete steps and froze outside a rather depressing terraced estate.

A dozen or so grey bricked, sullen, sombre houses were connected to one another. Another stain within the stain on Panem's map. Varity stiffened her shoulders and knocked, three sharp raps on the door.

Immediately she grew impatient, waiting here, quite literally catching her death in the cold weather. She had half a mind to turn away and resort back to her books, or to quietly observing people through her window. Before she had time to follow through with it, however, the door was opened hesitantly, a messy head of auburn hair poking its way round the gap.

"Oh," Jeremy sighed, "it's you."

"Pleasure as always," Varity shouldered her way in through the door, not caring for the squeal that accompanied the wood stubbing his toe. Once inside, she shrugged off her scarf but kept her jacket on – there was no such thing as interior heating. Not in Five, at least. Not in this shit hole.

"You're supposed to wait for an invitation into someone's house. Where were you raised, a pig pen?"

"Witty," Varity laughed sarcastically, rolling her eyes and beginning her trek up the rather shabby set of stairs her best friend – her best rival – had situated in his lonely little squalor. She looked over her shoulder and gave him a little wave, to which he only frowned and creased his brow. Cute, almost. Cute in an annoying, deluded way. Jeremy was more of a plaything for Varity than real competition. She could say things, he'd get pissed. He could say things, she'd just laugh. It was a relationship she valued if only for the distraction it provided.

Friend was a stretch, but she'd never had someone she'd consider close to the idea, so being in a house belonging to someone else her age, well, surely that provided some form of close relationship. If only for a few hours.

Once up the stairs, she went into Jeremy's room, ignoring the smell and the mess on his wooden floorboards. Keeping her shoes on and pulling out a textbook from her large jacket pocket, she sat down on the bed, leaving Jeremy to grumble as he lowered himself onto the floor.

"You do know what today is, right?" He said with the slightest hint of reproach in his voice. Varity only stared at him blankly. She could laugh, she could pretend, but more often than not, it was hard for her to give people anything other than a death stare. It wasn't that it was particularly taxing for her to showcase such frivolous emotion, mainly it was simply because she just didn't care.

Jeremy was amusing, but the rest of Five could crawl back under a hole for all she gave a damn. Everyone got by in life by sticking to themselves – it was the surest and safest way of making it another day without feeling like it was all over. And it helped that Varity was confident in herself. Confident that despite knowing her life would always be lacklustre, she at least had the smarts to be ambitious.

Other people couldn't live up to their dreams. She could. She had the potential.

"Reaping day," Varity shrugged, flipping open her textbook to a certain page covered in comprehensible scribbles she'd made earlier. "You mentioned I should come round one day to go over homework for Mr. Wendell's class. Not my fault you didn't specify when."

"I think someone like you would at least have the decency and common sense to pick a day that wasn't today." Jeremy responded angrily. It didn't stop him from finding his own textbook. Varity smiled to herself, peering down at a page and running her finger along her notes.

"Oh wait," Jeremy smirked to himself, breaking out from his moody teenage funk, "I should have expected no less. This is you we're talking about."

Varity ignored him. Let the sheep bleat, on and on. No one cared what someone like him thought. No one really cared what she thought either. At least she had the common knowledge to at least identify that about the world.

"Varity Sparks. Resident deluded know-it-all. This is complete garbage anyway." He gestured to the book. "Of course, again, what did I expect? You suggested we take up this project. _Together._"

She placed her textbook down to her side, crossing both hands over her lap and keeping her face relaxed. Anything to dissatisfy him further. "Are you quite finished? Some of us have work to do."

"Yeah," he snorted, "just don't make me late for the reaping. I don't want to get shot because you don't understand how manners work."

"Maybe you will be," Varity said, resuming her work. "Maybe luck will finally come my way."

She ignored what he had to say to that.

None of it mattered, in the end. Words were nothing. She could rely on herself to make it wherever she wanted to be – maybe it wouldn't happen, maybe it would. At least she had drive. At least she had her brain.

People were just distractions.

Some of them, like Jeremy, were an amusing one.

Most of them, nothing.

At the end of the day, Varity lived for Varity. That was how it had worked before, worked now, and would work in the future. She liked it that way.

Life was easier.

Life was better.

Life was hers.

* * *

**Ryon Blythe, 16 years old;  
District Six Male.**

* * *

If for every cigarette Ryon had washed away in the gutter surrounding his family home, he had a dollar, he'd be living the good life.

Unfortunately for Ryon, leaning back against the brick wall encasing the outer edge of his parents' business, money didn't come to those who simply wanted it. Money came to those who tried to earn. Ryon wanted money to pay for the things he craved – but rather than go out there and get it, make something of his name, he let his head fall back with a muffled thud against the brick and crossed his legs over one another.

It was surprisingly cold today, compared to yesterday. Grey clouds were rolling in from the horizon, a threat in the distance, ready to drown the District in their intolerance. Ryon didn't care. He watched people amble around, making their way down the merchant street of Six, paying no heed to the boy in the background, uncaring to everything that happened to pass him by.

That wasn't entirely true, he had to note. It was a hobby of his, when he had a sweet cigarette in his mouth and time on his hands, to simply watch other people go about their day to day lives. You could learn a lot, you could harness a lot of information. He never had to use it, but it was always there, in the back of his head, just in case.

People were odd. Annoying. Different. He slipped the cigarette into the other side of his mouth, rolling it around with a dry smirk on his face, wishing for the rain to come. Everyone would then clear the street after that – he could be alone. Observation was taxing after a while, so many questions, so many what's and why's that eventually grew dull and trite.

Right now, Ryon simply wanted to keep to himself. More out of fear than anything, though he wouldn't admit that to anyone but himself. His parents were angry with him, had kicked him out once again for insubordination. _Do this, count this, fix this, heal that. _Work, work, work, work and then some more work.

He didn't want that in his life – not one bit. He wanted what he already had. He wanted his childhood to remain a fixed, set part of his existence. He wanted to be able to sit against the wall, smoke, or drink, or even kiss a pretty girl if he so wanted to, without the harsh reality of the world pushing against his shoulders.

If he could just have that, maybe then, when the time came and he had to, Ryon would get up off his ass and help his family. But not at sixteen. Sixteen was too young – people should be allowed to mature at their own pace. Make decisions in their own time. Do whatever they wanted with _their _lives.

Because at the end of the day, his life was his life. If he wanted to fuck it all up, so be it. He'd do it gladly, with a smile on his face, safe in the knowledge that at least he'd fucked it up on his own terms.

The second a thick, heavy raindrop landed on his dirt-streaked nose, he put his cigarette out in the mud to his left and sighed, lazily sliding further down the wall. He made out the sound of footsteps coming closer for him and sighed again, raising an eyebrow at a strange little women, hunched over, staring at him under a black shawl with glazed over blue eyes.

He'd give her the time of day – if only to satisfy the poor, ugly pensioner.

"Son, you should be getting in." She looked up at the sky with a wrinkle of her brow, mottled with age. "There's a storm comin', look."

"It's reaping day, lady. We live in Panem. There's a shit-storm every day. A shit-storm called life."

She blanched for a moment, staring at him once, her milky, disgusting lips opening then closing. He'd decided he didn't want to give this lady what she wanted. What Ryon wanted was for her to leave him alone to his thoughts. Before she could say another word, he flicked his hand forwards and backwards, as if to shoo her away.

"Thanks for your consideration," Ryon fell back against the brick again, "I like the rain, though. Fitting for our lives. Bug someone else, please."

She left him to his own devices after that, shuffling along on her stunted little legs. He didn't necessarily feel bad, but he didn't feel good either. If he was aware of his own life, the state it was in, how the entire District was on the verge of collapse, it would do other people a world of good if they could at least accept it too.

That way, the people who were willing to try, could at least claw their way up the walls of despair and try to at least fix something of themselves. People like Ryon, they could watch them, knowing with a smirk that it would never amount to anything. Everyone was forced to grow up, something he loathed about his inevitable existence, but nothing changed for the better.

It was mainly why he couldn't accept where he was heading – he had to have time to do whatever he wanted. A little old lady preaching about a storm, he didn't want to reach that point where he'd shove his nose in other people's business because he didn't like himself enough to focus on his own problems.

He had no friends. He had no proper education. All he had was this building behind him, two parents within, and the cigarette, booze, and other blissful intoxications he could drift away on. If it made him the wrong sort of person, he didn't want to consider moving towards the right.

He was content, if people would just let him get on by himself.

Unfortunately for him, they never would. He knew that. He hated it. But life was life. Shitty from the very beginning.

Shitty until the very end.

* * *

**Garner Verbeck, 16 years old;  
District Seven Male.**

* * *

The Verbeck household had too many people and not enough space.

Garner strolled down the stairs in as casual a manner as he could maintain, despite both anxiety and nerves of together gnawing away at the back of his mind. In the hallway joining the front of the house to the back, his three younger step-siblings ran, one after the other, joining Garner's mother and their father for Reaping breakfast.

A family tradition Garner was more than happy to break. Not that he would – Remi counted on him to be there to alleviate some of his nerves. Their mother certainly wouldn't manage such a feat, not in a lifetime, or three.

"I'd slow down if I were you," Garner called after them in a hearty manner, a swift smile gracing his face. Just because he didn't enjoy being cooped up in this shoebox of a house didn't mean he wouldn't act like it. That was the difference between others and himself – they opened up, Garner preferred to close himself off by smiling and playing the big brother. He loved Remi, his real sibling, and the other three who weren't his blood, but that didn't make it any easier.

If he could pretend he was fine with it, like he could pretend outside in his District, then life would move on fluidly. One step after another, he'd get there. It would just take time and patience. Garner had that in abundance, at least he'd always hoped he had.

Once inside the kitchen, the immediate aroma of yet another cheap breakfast attacked his senses. He licked his lips hungrily, directing a loving look to his mother hovering over a pan, and positioned himself between Remi and Roland, his step-father.

"Mornin'," Garner smiled for both of them, plating a stale piece of bread and smothering what constituted as butter for the Verbecks onto his breakfast.

"Sorry if they woke you," Roland replied, ruffling Remi's hair. "The three of them can be a rowdy bunch at the best of times."

"We're only having fun," Petra stuck her tongue out. Ingrid and Boden did the same, all copying their sister. Eventually, with a playful kick under the table and a yelp, Garner silenced them. All three turned attention to their big brother, making faces and pointing fingers.

He did it back to them with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Remi staring up at him as he interacted with their step-siblings. Yearning, almost? _Yearning for what?_

When they'd shared a fair few harmless insults, they all turned at the sound of Garner's mother, plating several slices of bacon for the family. Only on Reaping day would they ever be graced with such fine food – usually it was eggs that had been left in the cupboard for far too long and this excuse for bread, smothered in yellow gloop.

_One day, _Garner thought, biting into the bacon with a blissful smile, _things will get better._

He had plans. He had hopes and dreams like every other suffering kid did. His, however, would come true. He was sure of it. In here, he had a family that weren't as close as the two figureheads would have hoped, but for reputation sake, for the sake of each and every one of them, Garner was good at pretending.

Outside, when it was time to settle for the reaping, him and his friends would be just as joyous on the streets as they were within their own homes. Cheerful in a District that didn't quite understand cheer. Garner had ambition to be something special – he was good at it, his siblings had settled down, they seemed naturally attached to him when they were peaceful enough to focus on how they felt. Without him, he was sure things would crumble. But they hadn't. They wouldn't.

If he satisfied their every need, they wouldn't ask him how they could satisfy his. No asking how his day was. Asking how he felt. Asking who that person was he'd been seen with, or what his grades were and his opinion on life in general. People didn't expect him to divulge his life in any way as long as he indulged their own.

It was a good system.

It worked.

Looking at his family, a content, real smile made its way onto this face. Leaning back in his chair, clapping a hand to his stomach, full of breakfast food, he gazed across them all and felt peaceful – for the time being, anyway.

"What's everyone's plans for today then?" He asked, breaking the idle chatter here and there. An innocent tantrum over out of date juice, or an annoying whine over burnt bacon. They all looked at him in response to his question. A moment of silence, and then they all spoke, giving him what he'd asked for.

"-afterwards we're going to hang out at the bakery, maybe see if he's in a good mood."

"-your father and I will be here, keeping the youngin's' out of trouble."

"-wherever, whatever."

Not once did anyone ask him. Because they didn't need to. Everyone was selfish in that way, people he loved, people he didn't, they all wanted what he could give them. Attention. If he listened, nodded and replied in earnest, he knew enough, had enough, understood enough, without having to give back.

They all continued to chatter on and on about how horrible today was, how afterwards it would get better, how they had a year of peace once the Reaping was over.

With each single member of the Verbeck family speaking, he leant into his chair and smiled, _listening. _He could speak just as well, but right now, with a smile on his face, he enjoyed hearing other people and what they had to say. If just for a moment, the Reaping didn't matter, his family did.

If he didn't have to focus on the bad outside of his house, he didn't have to worry about if he could ever live up to it or not.

Inside here, he was safe enough.

That's all he could really ask for.

Peace and security.

However fickle they might be.

* * *

**First four tributes. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you thought!**


	4. Purposeful

**Chapter Four.**

* * *

**Pre-Reapings, Part Two.**

* * *

**Aurelie Bauden, 18 years old;  
District Two Female.**

* * *

Aurelie picked up her coat and folded it over her arm. It was a cold day once again, colder than usual. Most people were out there cramming in as much pre-Reaping festivity as they could stomach – Aurelie, however, could stomach just about a banner flapping in the breeze and even then that was sometimes too much.

It wasn't about being showy – it was about Aurelie knowing she had it in her, more than anyone, to be the chosen volunteer and that she would win the Games. No amount of flags and cheers would make that any clearer. _Even if it's nice to know they support me… _She internalized that thought without a smile and left her house, slamming the door shut rather forcefully and making her way down the stone steps leading to the main street of Two.

There were still a few hours to go before the Reaping. The Academy wanted to see her for a quick brief before it began, followed by them meeting whichever intolerant, arrogant imbecile they'd chosen to accompany her. She wouldn't waste her precious time thinking about who or what would journey with her from Two.

In the end, only one Victor could come out of this. District loyalty meant squat when it came down to that final fight, that one last moment of bloodshed, and the trumpets in the sky marking the end of the Games. She hadn't connected with any of her fellow trainers since she'd registered and began her path towards this moment, and she wasn't about to now.

At the end of the day, no one mattered but herself. It wasn't her trying to be the worst kind of person, it was Aurelie being the smart, self-assured kind of person who could do this. Everyone stood alone in this world until they'd proven themselves – until they'd earned the respect of their peers. Aurelie knew she deserved everything other people got. Everything people other than herself ended up receiving.

Now, though, she'd made her mark.

She was going into the Games.

Aurelie reached the doors of the Academy, pushing them open and asserting her way through. Throngs of the younger trainers got in her way, a bunch of short, pre-pubescent children compared to the group she had trained with in recent memory. They were far too eager. Far too childish. Her leg caught a little girl's and she flew forwards, crashing into the welcome mat, groaning out loud before turning to glare in Aurelie's direction.

All she did was flip her hair over one shoulder, sneer at the girl, narrow her eyes, and turn back around, continuing her way forwards. She had to make this quick – there were still things she had to do, people she wanted to see, goodbyes she intended to make before the reaping. Not the sincere sort of goodbye, the sort of farewell where she dished out everything she'd suffered from.

It was an exciting prospect.

She'd never bottled in what she had to say, but there'd always been a reserved part in the back of her head, stopping her from giving out everything. Well, now there wasn't that moment of hesitation to draw her back. She could be truthful.

It was another advantage to this whole situation.

Pushing through another set of double doors, heading for the back office of the Head Trainer, Aurelie was stopped by another girl pressing her hand across the doorway. She glared up into the eyes of someone she honestly didn't, and couldn't be bothered, to recognise. Whoever this stick insect was, her outfit rather unflattering she noticed, she continued to gaze into Aurelie's eyes, blocking her way forward.

"Going somewhere?"

Aurelie pushed her face right up close to the girl's, nose to nose. "You planning on moving?"

"When you answer my question."

"I don't answer to cocky bitches like you." Aurelie stepped forwards, clenching a fist by her side. "Step out of the way before I make you."

"Make me?" The girl laughed dryly, shaking her head. "You might have fooled the rest of them, but I've seen you. The name Aurelie Bauden counts for shit when it comes to who can make it in the Games and who can't. You're a nobody."

Aurelie had always had a temper. In fact, some people stayed away, if not most. She was happy for it – she didn't care how bad she made them feel, if they were scared of her, it only meant more personal time for herself. Independence meant an awful lot in a world that didn't stop talking and judging.

Aurelie squared up to the girl, cracking her knuckles against her leg. "Step out of my way. I won't ask again."

"I should have been chosen. Not you. I've worked hard, I've done everything. I should have-" The girl yelped loudly when Aurelie bought the flat of her palm right into the girl's nose. There was a loud crack and she cried, flailing forwards like a limbless fool, landing in a heap on the carpet behind her.

"I told you."

"You're a fucking no-one. Why did you get the spot?! It's not fair!" The girl continued to wail. Aurelie rolled her eyes, kicking her once more for good measure, and turned back around to head to where she was supposed to go.

All the way, she tried to ignore the blood pounding in her ears, the anger that was burning under her skin, boiling her veins. The throbbing in her forehead had intensified, a headache starting to bloom. Unwanted. Unneeded.

None of that situation should have happened. Aurelie had thought nothing of that girl, thought exactly the same thing she had said to Aurelie out loud, and it had hit her more than she'd expected. More than it should have done.

A part of herself felt ashamed, but that embarrassment was smothered under the years of contempt that had made Aurelie who she was now. Pissed off. Well, she had every right to be. Girls like the one she could still hear whimpering were exactly the kind of people she'd tried to never let get to her.

Every time she said something mean to them, and every time they said something just as bad back, it was like parts of her skin were being peeled back and her insecurities were exposing themselves to strangers.

It made her feel weak.

She refused to be weak.

_I'm not…_

_I'm not._

She punched the wall, shouting out loud. Immediately, she regretted it, swiping hair from in front of her eyes and taking a deep breath.

Today was not a day to break apart.

Today was a day she had to be strong.

Stronger than the rest – like she always had been, like she always would be.

Aurelie had known she would always be something, the world around her just failed to notice it. Their ignorance wasn't something she'd let make herself doubt who she was.

She was here for a reason.

She was here to volunteer.

Here to win.

What other people had to say, it shouldn't matter.

Anyone who wasn't Aurelie, they didn't mean a thing.

They were nobodies.

* * *

**Cillian Garnier, 17 years old;  
District Three Male.**

* * *

Inside his two-storied, central house, Cillian had his friends round, upstairs in his bedroom. The four of them were in a circle, eagerly chatting away with one another like the best of friends they were. Anyone who walked past would hear their laughter drifting out through the open window – some of them would no doubt scorn those who could act so happy on Reaping day, others would appreciate it for bringing a light to the dark.

Cillian himself pitied the former, the people who couldn't pick out anything worth smiling over in their lives.

He had nothing to do except for what was about to happen later, but the mere fact the people he was doing nothing with were his friends, well that was enough for him. More than enough.

For a brief moment, the Reaping could be forgotten.

It could become what it was always destined not to be – if he didn't fear it, it couldn't be frightening. It would lose all its meaning.

"-basically she was trying to help the little girl but she wouldn't have any of it."

Cillian smiled, swaying forwards on his knees. "You can't blame her. People have self-respect, they don't want charity, they want to feel like they've worked hard for themselves."

"Still, she was only trying to help."

"She shouldn't be upset with herself," Cillian continued to speak – that relaxed, personable smile almost as if it were superglued to his jaw, "the fact she offered says enough about her. A no shouldn't matter."

Beneath his floorboards, somewhere below in the living room or kitchen, he could hear the tapping of footsteps, the sound of someone hard at work. For a brief moment, Cillian strained his ears to listen even more, drowning out the sounds of his friends speaking to what was going on below. Him and his friends had done nothing all morning – that had been alright to Cillian, he enjoyed that, the idea of having a place to be without having to feel compelled to do something with their time.

Half his time, he'd spend like this, enjoying the time he could with the people he cared about.

The other half, he'd be at school, earning the education he'd strived to achieve for himself, working hard to be make something of his name. Listening to his maid attempting to clean up the mess he himself had no doubt left, it made him momentarily feel guilty.

He didn't want to feel that way, so he turned to his friends once more, who were deep in some other trivial conversation, and stood up to walk out.

"I'll be back in a bit." They stared at him, perplexed for a second, but when he motioned to the floor, they knew what he meant. The quicker he got it done, the quicker he could return up here. Cillian liked to split his time between earning his place amongst his peers, and earning his place as a respectable son to his family name.

A good friend and a good person at the same time. He hurried down the stairs, skipping the last one and walked into the large living room. His parents were some of the richest Three had to offer. This mere room was larger than some of the houses he knew people lived in. Again, he felt guilty, but again he tried his hardest to not feel that way – he wouldn't let himself feel bad for something his parents had achieved, no matter the corrupt nature of Panem. At its core, it was a bad place, but most of the people within were not.

Cillian picked up a broom, tapping it once against the floor to gain the attention of his maid. Calpurnia turned around with a frown, before a small, reserved smile made its way onto her tired face. She was a woman who had worked most of her life and it was showing, but a kind woman all the same. A mother figure, more than a worker for the Garnier family.

"Thought you could use the help."

"Won't your friends mind, I don't want you losing them for my sake."

Cillian waved that away with a laugh, rolling his eyes. "You worry too much. We're not doing anything, they'll be fine. I'm sure they can manage without me for a bit."

"Probably," Calpurnia laughed, "you're not that much of a catch."

He narrowed his eyes at her, before erupting into his own bout of laughter. "Charming."

With that, he launched into his work with a pleased smile. As long as he was spending his time between doing something for someone, or nothing for the pleasure of the people around him, it made him feel like he had a purpose.

He was gracious for what he'd achieved in his life with that mantra at the core of who he was. He had his friends at school, he had his reputation, but not for a single second did he ever take it for granted. Who he was meant a great deal to him – and he was proud of that. Confident that he'd spent his seventeen years alive making something of himself without stepping over other people to get it.

Like helping his maid do the work she had always been tasked to do herself, assisting other people eventually lent itself into benefiting himself as well.

Sweeping up the last of the room, he emptied the pan and smiled back up at Calpurnia. "There's more work to be done, but no," she waved her hand away, "go be with your friends."

"I can stay if you want, it'll get done quicker."

"Do you get paid for cleaning? I don't think so." She shook her head again, waving her hand more fervently. "Go. Be a kid your age, I'll do the rest. Maybe tomorrow you can make up for it."

Cillian laughed and dashed out through the door, back up the stairs, and into his bedroom.

Within seconds, he was deep in conversation once again, trivial nonsense, but nonsense that was close to his heart. His friends knew what he liked, he knew what they liked. As long as he strove to make the others around him just as important as himself, he knew he'd always live a happy life.

It was a life he'd cherished since he'd been a small child, but a life he'd never taken for granted.

He never would.

Anything could change – the people outside who hated the people who could laugh might one day be the community he'd find himself in. Change was commonplace in Three.

So he'd make his time where he was worth it.

For as long as he could.

Happily, with a smile, because it meant a lot to him.

It made Cillian who he was.

* * *

**Alaric Benatti, 18 years old;  
District Nine Male.**

* * *

District Nine had never been the greatest place to live – not from the moment Alaric had been able to go to school, up to the way he felt now, sitting with his friend on the edge of the main grain field. It was easy to get lost out there – drifting, forgotten, boring. A part of the crowd. A nobody.

That's not what Alaric wanted for himself. He looked out at the monotonous workers, robotic in their every action, and then turned to his best friend with a resigned smile on his face. He understood everyone's place in the world, he understood where he was, who he was, and what the world expected from him. But that didn't mean he couldn't do something for himself if he put his mind to it.

So, that's what he'd do. He'd do _something, _rather than _nothing._

"This is shit," Alaric stood up from where they sat, kicking a lone pebble down into the concrete street, watching it roll away. "We should make it more exciting."

"Reaping day more exciting?" Dayla cocked an eyebrow up at her friend, squinting her eyes with the glare from the sun, streaming past Alaric, blinding her. "They don't go together."

"No they don't," he shrugged, before smiling, loosening his shoulders, "but they can."

"How?"

"Improvise. Look around. Do something. Think. I'm sure you've got a brain somewhere in that pretty skull of yours." He tapped Dayla's knee with the tip of his boot, watching her bat it away with a smirk. He enjoyed her company, more than he enjoyed anyone else's. He wasn't oblivious to the way Nine, and the rest of the country for that matter, had to operate. People stepping on other people for their own advantage. It was surviving – that's how they had to do it. Friends close, enemies closer.

Alaric knew what he had inside of him to get him places and what he didn't. He knew that no one paid him much attention and how that usually benefited him in the long run. He knew how his stubborn head would also get him into trouble. It didn't ever change those things – he'd always be an obstinate fool, but he was a happy, content, obstinate fool. An idiot who knew that he was capable at thinking outside of the box, refusing to be another cog in the machine.

Nine was an awful place – but with a little bit of optimism, the dreary casket they were locked inside could, perhaps one day, open. Open enough for Alaric to make something of himself.

Today, it was one step in the right direction. Bit by bit, he'd break free from this sullen, depressive, bleak atmosphere and have a little fun.

Even if it wasn't a good idea, it was his idea. His idea was enough to convince him it was the right thing to do.

"What do you have in mind then? Since I'm obviously the pretty face, you must be the brains. Can't have them both."

Alaric nudged her again, peering around into the grain field, hand over his eyes to protect his vision from the sunlight. At the end of the day, what did it matter if he caused a little fuss? It'd be forgotten after the reaping – no one cared what two teenagers did when there was other trouble to be stopped, other people to bother, other inconveniences waiting to erupt from the more restless of Nine's citizens.

Rolling his shoulders, Alaric raised a finger and pointed at a withered old man, hunched back, cutting into the grain with a rusted old sickle, a basket in hand. It was an awfully sad sight, the old and decrepit, waiting to die as the world moved on without them.

It reminded Alaric he couldn't waste his time, not for a single second.

He had to make each day count, even if in the long run it didn't matter. It was still something. For his peace of mind – no one else's. No one mattered, when he thought of it. Dayla, yes. Alaric, definitely. Him and him alone.

"Pick that guy's pocket." Alaric winked down at Dayla's startled face. She gazed out at the pensioner in question, turning back up to her friend, a twinkle in his eye. For a moment, he knew she expected him to back down, but he wouldn't.

He never did.

"You can't be serious…"

"I am." He stood, adamant, watching his friend go between a definite no, to a maybe, to a probable yes. Dayla was just like him – couldn't back down from something that shouldn't be done. The fun was in the fact that they could be caught, knowing it was wrong, in a world that was already so far past the idea of what was good and what was bad.

They had another second to stare at one another, a contest to see who would back down, and with a smile, Dayla nodded her head. She stood up and started to move into the field, weaving her short stature around the grain, away from sight, a background character to the robots doing Panem's will.

Alaric watched, amused, as she made her way right up to the old man's back. He didn't suspect a thing – either his senses were dull, or he just didn't care. Alaric didn't blame him. Why care? It wasn't like he could do anything about where he lived or how he lived. At least Alaric was young. At least he knew on some level he had a choice, as insignificant as it might be.

He stood on the tip of his toes, leaning up to get a good sight of his best friend pulling out a few crumpled, dry dollar bills. She looked guilty walking back up to Alaric, shaking her head, her pretty blonde hair spilling out from her collar.

"Happy?"

"Not really. Wasn't very exciting. I was expecting you to flirt with him." Alaric teased, catching the money when she threw it at him.

"Oh please. He's more your type."

"I like a fighter," he shook his head, sticking out his tongue immaturely. "I'd break his old bones in seconds."

"Charming."

Dayla went to leave, turning round, asserting her place and moving to return to the main part of the District. Alaric looked between his friend and the field – containment one side, containment on the other. He'd never be free, no matter what he did.

He could smile and hope for something. He could joke without shame, do this and do that, uncaring, stubborn, being the obstinate fool.

It didn't matter.

With a sigh, he walked up to the man and tucked the bills back into his pocket. He wasn't a bad person – this man needed all he could get. Alaric wasn't about to take it from him.

He simply needed something.

A kick.

A push.

Hope, whatever.

Something.

_Anything._

* * *

**Acacia Grey, 13 years old;  
District Twelve Female.**

* * *

The deep, enriched green beyond the fence gave Acacia more worry than peace. Exhaling a wistful, defeated sigh, she turned back from the impossible sight and smiled at her friend Rhondda.

With her classic Seam looks, Acacia knew if she was caught outside their little shop, she'd be in for a good telling off. Acacia tapped her hurriedly on the shoulder, pushing her closer and closer to the alleyway that ran adjacent, crammed between either building. Grey's Confectionary and whichever establishment they were neighboured with.

"You can't be seen out here, Rhondda. My gran' will kick you to the sidewalk and knock you on the ear." Acacia giggled, poking her friend in the stomach. "Believe me, it hurts."

"I ain't scared of no crabby old lady."

"That crabby old lady you're speaking about is my granny. Don't talk about her like that."

Rhondda laughed and batted away Acacia's fervently enthusiastic, but helpful hand. "You call her a witch all day long. Don't pretend you're above it."

Both girls laughed the whole way down the alleyway – or at least, half the length, Acacia knowing she'd be given a right telling off if she was late for work. A family ran business didn't mean relatives could slack. Not that she wanted to slack. She surprisingly liked knowing she had a purpose in this world. Rhondda was from a place people wasted away in their own filth – clinging to a mere copper coin for life, cupping hands to drink from puddles. It was no way to live.

Everyday Acacia wished she could make a difference, and everyday Rhondda reminded Acacia that they were a part of two different worlds. It didn't make it any easier though. Life was cruel, Acacia was not, and nothing she could do or say would ever make things change for the better.

Living in Twelve reminded her of that, each and every day.

"See you then. If your family isn't looking for targets, come find me at the Reaping." Rhondda gave her a cheerful wave and off they went, each in their own direction, separating for the time being. Acacia hummed a tune to herself, hands in her pockets, skipping back through the door and up to the counter.

One thing she loved about working, other than the knowing feeling that she was actually making something of her life, was the fact that soon people would come filing in. Not loads, but enough. People she didn't know and people she did. Twelve had its merry folk and its not so merry, but that didn't mean anything to Acacia. It made no difference if they frowned or if they smiled. They were still people and she was remarkably fascinated by them.

Everyone had a right to be acknowledged.

Even people from the Seam, contrary to her family's beliefs.

"I ought to club you round the head with that broom young lady." Acacia gulped, unclipping the part of the counter that swung upwards to allow entry, and stood in front of the register. It was a wonky, rusted old thing, but it still worked. Acacia gave her grandmother a toothy, friendly grin, followed by an apologetic hug, wrapping her arms round the frail woman's shoulders.

"Won't happen again," she pulled away, pecked her on the cheek, and returned back to the front, waiting patiently for the new day to begin.

As she continued to stand, back relaxed but not too relaxed to come off indolent and idle, Acacia's thoughts travelled once more to the bright greens of the forest beyond Twelve. Every day she saw the leaves in the sunshine, and every day they were a constant reminder that she lived amongst a grey, ashen world, cordoned off from the beauty of the unknown.

She'd given up her hope of ever having anything else, but that didn't make it any easier for her not to wish. To not have her hopes and dreams that one day, maybe something more than what she had would happen. A change in her life that would lead to brand new things. She loved what she had, she never took it for granted, not for a single second of her life, but that didn't mean she wanted it forever.

Out there, she was but a speck in the grand bowl of life. Unimportant. There were things she didn't know, things she wanted to know, things she wanted to see.

_One day, _Acacia smiled to herself, hearing the gentle, welcoming ding of the bell attached to the door of their shop, _one day something will happen. Something that will mix things up. _

_One day._

"Good morning sir," Acacia smiled down at the young boy, no taller than she was, peering over the edge of the counter at the jars of sweets behind her head. Each shelf contained enough to break any willing customer's teeth for the rest of their life. Delicious, delectable but dangerous. That's what her grandmother called them.

A children's poison.

That didn't stop the Greys from selling them though. _A good business women knows what the world wants. _District Twelve wanted distraction. District Twelve wanted the smallest pleasures, knowing they were stuck in the greatest of dangers.

"I'll have… um…" his eyes moved over the tubs again, curiously pondering his choice. Acacia stood patiently, ever smiling, her eyes positively radiating with that gentle warmth they always exuded when she was in the presence of another person.

He clicked his fingers together and soon enough, he left with a thank you, transaction processed, and Acacia leaned forward, ready and waiting for someone else.

It was a repetitive lifestyle and it was hard sometimes. But at the end of the day, it was a life she was grateful for, a life she wouldn't waste, and a life she had every right to love and cherish. At only thirteen, she had the rest of her existence in front of her.

Right now, she didn't need to focus on the impossible.

She could just live and be happy.

It was something Acacia was very good at – being happy.

Smiling. Laughing. Being a good person.

It was what District Twelve needed, more than anything.

A little bit of cheer.

A little bit of life.

A little bit of hope.

Happiness.

* * *

**Another four tributes, another pre-reaping chapter. Up next, the first of the reapings!**

**Let me know what you thought :)**


	5. The Worst

**Chapter Five.**

* * *

**Reapings, Part One.**

* * *

**Ivo Koehn, 17 years old;  
District Four Male.**

* * *

"It was your father's." Ivo's mother smiled into her son's eyes, patting the tie against his chest. "You want to look respectable up there. I know… I know that's what's best."

Ivo tried his best to continue smiling at his mother. The atmosphere spoke of something darker, tenser and sadder. She didn't want him to do this, but she did at the same time, and for that she was guilty. Ivo didn't want to leave the very person he cared so much about, but likewise, this was something he had to do for them just as much as he did for himself.

"I'll see you in there." She placed a hand against the doorway when he walked outside. "You look handsome."

"Thanks mum, you look beautiful too." Ivo offered her a small, cheery wave and finished the rest of the walk round the shabby little houses dotted through this section of his District. He kept his hands tucked into his pockets, nervously chewing on his bottom lip despite the protests his mind made against it.

His mother was right – he had to look good. More than good, Ivo knew they expected perfection. His mother and father hadn't committed themselves to changing their way of thinking to support his choices only for him to let them down. And himself, he had to focus on that more importantly. His family and his friends were everything, but Ivo would be the tribute in the Arena, not those he would be leaving.

He had to focus on who he was now, who he knew he'd become in there, and how after it all came to an end, the steps he'd have to take to return to the boy that was walking through the District as the chosen volunteer. He tried to visualize a perfect Arena where it wouldn't change, knowing full well a perfect Arena didn't exist. His Games would be hard no matter how optimistic a spin he tried to put on it. He knew full well what he'd become in there and he was prepared.

Ready.

The sun seemed to shine brighter when he broke free from the destitution people worse than him lived in, and into where the rest occupied. Ivo immediately found Michelle waiting, waving for him to join her. Luckily it was only her and none of his other friends or any of her own. Not that he disliked anyone for that matter, today just meant too much to really get distracted.

Michelle was the exception. Anyone who gave him the time of day, he'd give just as much back. She'd done more for him than that – he owed her. It was just another incentive as to why he had to win and make it home.

"How's she coping?" The two walked forwards side by side, through the crowds that spotted Ivo, waved at him, cheered his name, only for Ivo to ignore what they had to say. Not in spite or hatred. Not in arrogance or anything like that. He didn't hate the spotlight, he chose to contain it instead. It was easier that way – it didn't cloud who he was. Nothing could get to him. Nothing could change him this early on, not yet. Not when things were so much easier than they would become in the future.

Ivo shrugged his shoulders sadly, shaking his head. "She puts on a brave face. It doesn't mean much. She doesn't want me to go but she knows that it's a good thing for our family. We need this and I could die and it just… well it's not the best situation to be in."

"You know I'd try to suggest you do something else."

Ivo laughed. "And you know if you were anyone else I'd shake my head and stubbornly say this is my one and only path. You're not anyone else so I can be honest and tell you that things are difficult, that part of me doesn't want this and part of me wants this more than anything I've ever done in my life."

"It'll be hard, Ivo. They're won't be nice people."

"I'll give them a chance," he said, smiling when they reached the opening of the Square, "I'll give them a chance because that's what I'd like back. Even though only I can come out of there, everyone deserves that. I don't want killing to be easy. They're humans just like me. They have friends just like you."

"No one's like me."

Ivo bumped his shoulder against Michelle, shoving her aside playfully. She waved once more to him, a preliminary farewell before what was about to happen after the Reaping was over.

Butterflies swarmed Ivo's stomach, threatening to break apart every ounce of dedication that had gotten him to this moment. If there was one thing Ivo knew about himself, for good or for bad, when something was in his head he wouldn't just let it die out until he'd given it a go. His ideas were usually good ideas. This was a horrible one but it could be used for good.

The best, really. Saving his family. Saving himself. It was a horrible price to pay, but a price he was alright paying.

"Congratulations, Ivo."

"Good luck today."

"You can do this man."

He nodded at everyone who said something as he waited. He didn't feel awkward, he just didn't really want to hear what they had to say right now. None of it was done out of jealousy, he knew he had their respect, and whilst that meant a lot to him, it was also difficult to deal with. The attention when all he wanted was to get up there, get this over with, and go to the Capitol.

Finally, however, the Escort graced the stage with her presence and it began.

Darina Pallone was the female volunteer, composed but cheerful at the same time. Ivo clapped his hands respectfully alongside everyone and then controlled himself, readying his posture, his resolve, his everything into this one moment.

A name was called out, a name to be forgotten, and Ivo stepped out.

"I volunteer!"

No one he passed really knew Ivo all that well. A few people here and there he might have spoken with, but Ivo had always given out what he felt comfortable with, and that had never been a lot. Maybe it would be easier that way – though he refused to immediately judge whoever he was going to be with, at least they wouldn't become people he'd feel obliged to. People he'd spill everything about himself to in a matter of days.

That was what would get him through this just as much as his training.

What he'd show and what he'd hold back.

"Ivo Koehn, your District Four male." He spoke clearly and confidently. He felt that way too. Nervous of course, but ready. Preparation meant a great deal and he was prepared.

To do what had to be done.

To be who he had to be.

It might not be all bad, but it wouldn't be good either. He could deal with that. He would. He had to.

There was only one way he wanted out of this. It would be hard being around people he didn't want to have to hurt, but he would, and that was something he'd accepted.

The tribute inside of him was ready.

The Victor waiting to be crowned.

It'd be a long road, but every road came to an end.

This was no exception.

* * *

**Adrina Lear, 17 years old;  
District Six Female.**

* * *

Being a part of Panem made people like Adrina realise that there never seemed to be much of a point. It was yet another reaping day. There had been reaping days for this many years, and there would be more reaping days for an infinite amount of time after she'd passed on.

It wasn't Adrina being pessimistic, or depressive, or even trying to sap the life that some people carried in their day to day attitudes. Adrina was simply honest in her approach to her own existence – people were born, people lived, and then those people died.

It was all the same, no matter who you were.

Adrina picked up the pace through the musky, chilled air of her home District. The quicker she'd gotten away from her parents the better it had been for her – her mother would be catatonic, lying in her own filth and… him. Well, the less said about him the better.

People milled past her, faceless nobodies and irritating somebodies. No one spared her a second look, something she was more than happy to mutually retaliate with. Groups of friends walked side by side, talking animatedly about this and that. All Adrina could do was listen with a wry smirk on her face and a clouded, clogged up state of mind that made her wish for… something more. Something else. Something that wasn't this, when this was all that there would ever be.

Once she reached the opening to the Square, Adrina almost tripped over a loose paving stone, wiping such thoughts from her mind quickly and cleanly. It wouldn't do her any shred of good believing in a part of her that would never come true. Believing she could be someone else when there really wasn't that someone inside of her.

She was herself, and as shitty as that might be, as unlikeable as she was sure others perceived her as, if she was okay with that then who cared what anyone else thought? She didn't go out of her way to be rude, or bitter, or cruel to others – she kept her distance if they kept theirs. And if they were nice people, then she was welcome to at least… try. Try to be that person. Try to be the friends she saw together, when all she had to call a friend was one, a boy that went against everything Adrina had inside of herself.

Theron found her at the front of the queue, ignoring the curses thrown his way. Adrina turned to catch the same group of teenagers her age glaring at him, and in turn herself, when they caught her staring. She narrowed her eyes and smirked their way, waving a hand swiftly and turned back to face her breathless friend.

"You look like shit," she remarked, stepping forwards with her one and only companion. They were processed and shoved through to the main part of the Square. Cows to the slaughter. It was the only metaphor and honest way of interpreting this situation that she could come up with on the spot. Hopeless animals moving towards their hopeless endings.

"I've felt better." Theron sighed and stretched out his arms. "Hard to smile on a day like this."

"That's why I wear this face," she gestured with a particularly overly sugary sweet self-wave to her own expression, "work this attitude and it all becomes background noise."

"You know me Ad', I don't like being in the background."

She groaned, laughing silently. "True. Ask me again why I put up with you?"

"Because no one else does."

"That's their own fault. I'm not a catch but yeah… who wants to be like everyone else anyway?" The two started to separate, staring at each other, smiling over the heads of everyone else pushing between them. "It's more fun this way!"

He gave her one last farewell wink and Adrina shoved her way through to the centre of her own section. Hidden in the middle row, Adrina was more than happy to shy away, keep her head low and watching the reaping begin on a stage she was equally as eager to ignore.

Words, more words and other words continued to drift through one ear and out the other. Other girls were nervous, other girls were hopefully optimistic in their chances. Adrina waited for the slip to be pulled out – if it was her, it was her. If it wasn't, it wasn't.

Luck was shit, but luck didn't exist anyway. Fate. Destiny. Whatever nonsense people used to make excuses for the bad… no. No there wasn't any of that.

Bad was bad.

"Adrina Lear!"

And this was bad. The worst. Worse than the worst.

She'd always struggled to empathize with the girls that had been reaped before her. Sympathise with how they were feeling. Now that it had happened so quickly when she'd been talking with her friend a mere few minutes ago, well, it made Adrina freeze up in a way that wasn't natural to her.

Seconds passed and she caught herself, cursing under her breath and straightening her back. She was as pale as a sheet, walking up to the stage. Still, she kept herself looking as held together as she could possibly feel given the situation.

She cared, this time.

She more than cared where she was headed because that was how human beings thought. They were selfish. She'd always flippantly cast off this kind of stuff because it had never affected her. Now it had. Now she was terrified. She had every right to be.

Adrina wasn't trying to be the person the Capitol wanted. She didn't want to be their prized little potential Victor because she wasn't crying.

But she didn't cry.

She didn't do anything.

Adrina Lear remained frozen on stage. Waiting. Wondering. Wishing.

_I'm dead._

Not yet, she wasn't.

She was alive.

That's what counted – she was alive for now. She had a chance to fight for her life. She could live. Winning the Hunger Games? Difficult. Ludicrous. But possible.

Anything was possible.

This was no exception.

Winning. She could do that. She would do that. Whatever the cost.

* * *

**Kira Vinstra, 18 years old;  
District Eight Female.**

* * *

Kira took her parent's silence as a blessing.

The two of them fussed over her the way they would a dress or a new-born baby. Thankfully, however, they did so without speaking. She looked down at the top of their heads, lips pressed into a frown, watching them tie up her laces and pat down any creases in her dress.

The second her mother touched her hand, Kira pulled away defensively. "I just… I can do it myself." She tried to smile apologetically, but when that didn't work and the hurt on her mother's face only grew more intense, Kira turned to walk out the door without another word.

Today was one of those days Kira would rather be alone than be forced into the social circle her parents pushed her into. Outside their door they'd expect her to communicate the way her mother had done so since she was a little girl – prim, proper, everything that made Kira sick to the stomach. Rather than fulfil that, she kept her head down, bowed amongst the crowds pushing this way and that through the light drizzle of rain that came down from the sky above.

It was better this way, Kira thought. She'd woken up not wanting to get out of bed, now that she had, she wanted more than anything to simply return there in a state of ignorance and push aside where she was headed – where they were all headed. At least being in this mood, at least being alone, Kira didn't have to motivate herself to fit that side of who she was.

Walking amongst the children and adults who lived in the same place she did, Kira continued to stick to the side-lines, working her way through silently and slowly. She didn't need to pick up the pace – she didn't want to pick up the pace. She simply drifted through, ignored, background, solemn with her hair hanging down her face in light, curled blonde waves.

Silence had always been a bliss in these moods, the days where Kira would rather stay in bed than get out, but silence never seemed to last long. The blessing of her parents not speaking was shattered a few seconds later, the moment Kira took her place in the queue.

Mia stood by her side, grinning down at her. "Shitty weather, my hair's getting ruined."

Kira smiled – not quite forcing herself to exude care when she knew it would always be genuine, but a sense of patience which was hard to come by today. "It's the one thing you can't control."

"Well, I'll find a way one day."

She laughed. "Sure. In the meantime, bringing it back to reality, are you nervous?"

"Nervous?" The two took a step forward, Mia making a strange noise, waving her hand to the side. "There are hundreds of girls who could get chosen. Thousands maybe. I'm not nervous."

If there was one thing Kira was good at, even in her most unmotivated state of self, was pleasing her friend. Pleasing anyone who needed pleasing. A promise that couldn't be kept would go a long way as long as they could keep believing until reality came down hard and harsh. Kira took Mia's hand and gave it a squeeze, pretending to ignore the dread that started to blossom in her stomach.

"Nothing bad will happen to you today."

"The rain already has," Mia groaned, rolling her shoulders, "but thanks. It's good to have a friend."

"Always."

Kira was having a bad day. A really bad day. But so was everyone – on reaping day it was impossible to classify anything as good. She wouldn't take out her mood on someone she cared about. As much as she'd cast off her parents, they were always there, flouncing around her, picking and prodding to create their perfect little daughter.

With Mia, freedom meant a lot. Freedom in being able to be a good friend, but also being able to frown, and moan, and curse the world she lived. Maybe later she would. Right now, she let the Peacekeepers process her at the table and side by side with her best friend, she walked on into the Square and found her way into her appropriate section.

The nerves were still prevalent, always there, never fading. Kira tried to keep a controlled smile on her face – relaxed enough, despite the circumstance. Mia pointed out the Escort walking onto the stage, then their pudgy Mayor who gave the woman a delicate kiss on her hand. The two girls smiled, Mia more enthusiastically than Kira, but still she tried. Their world was a bad place, nothing would ever change that, but it didn't mean they had to match their feelings to the state of their home.

Kira kept her hands by her side, teeth gritted together. The Treaty was over with soon enough, but the part she dreaded the most was coming. Step by step, the Escort was getting closer and closer to sealing the fate of one girl.

Mia.

Kira.

Anyone.

She kept her expression controlled, refusing to let the nerves get the best of her. When the slip was pulled out, Kira's minute amount of hope still remained. Until the name was called.

"Kira Vinstra!"

And that hope fell into ash.

"Oh," she exhaled breathlessly. Mia looked at her, then up at the stage. Kira followed her widened eyes and felt her own prickling with tears. The happy side to herself, the side that had been around yesterday, wanted to try to make the most out of this. But today was the reaping. Today was a bad day. Now it had become the worst.

She could have tried to be the perfect tribute for the Capitol. Instead she walked up, a look of defeat on her face, eyes sunken, lips pale in the camera's light. Everything about her screamed lost. Broken. Kira stood on stage and kept her eyes on the ground.

Maybe tomorrow would be better – it had always been like that, as if she'd flip a coin before going to bed. Good days and bad days.

If today had been the worst, maybe tomorrow would be the best.

She could only hope, if that even existed. If there was a chance, it might show itself eventually. It had to. Hope. Whatever it might be – meaningless, or something – it was all she had.

Her only chance at winning relied on what might come about.

Who she might be.

Dead or alive.

Nothing or everything.

Victor or forgotten.

* * *

**Carson Perrett, 16 years old;  
District Eleven Male.**

* * *

Carson sat on the wall, his feet over the edge, swaying left and right in time to the clicking of his tongue. To his back, the world around him was cut off, blocked by a building he had no knowledge of. In front, the world was hustling and bustling to get the Reaping over with.

It was similar to how Carson felt. There were things he didn't know, things he wanted to know, and things he was scared to find out about himself and others. In front, it was his way in, the way he liked to be with other people – for every light in a character, there was a dark. But every bad had its good. That's the way he liked to think. How he liked to believe.

Reaping day always made him more contemplative. He wasn't a downer, usually, and it wasn't a case of him trying to sadden himself. He was real, though. Logical. Practical. He knew his chances of being reaped, of dying, and knew no matter how small they were, the insignificance didn't make it impossible. Rather than dwell day to day over how it could get worse, he tried to make things better. And it usually worked, as well as it could given where he lived.

He sat with a content smile on his face because he was happy. Happier to be able to even think that word – happy. Not everyone had that inside of them.

He was happy to be happy.

It didn't mean he wasn't aware, it just meant he wouldn't let it get him down.

Like the unknown blocked off brick building behind him and the open world in front. It mattered about how you perceived things.

Good or bad.

"Thought I'd find you here."

Carson looked up at the sound of a voice. Quiet, almost drowned out amongst the noise fighting its way through the street, it made Angus stand out more than anyone else. Carson dropped down from the wall and extended a hand, patting him on the back with a smile.

"It's starting soon. I just needed time to get ready."

"It won't be you."

"Probably won't. There's always a probably. Always a possibility." Carson started to lead Angus off, into the tide of Eleven's citizens. Side by side, they were nothing special, but that didn't bog down Carson. He kept his head up with a placid smile because it was better to at least show he didn't mind than convince himself he did.

He didn't mind as long as he didn't let himself down. He was a good friend to Angus, a good person all around. That's the standard he liked to keep himself to – his outlook on the world wasn't conflicted with how he wanted to be. He was grateful for that. So many people fell into the shadows and lost who they were. So many people never fulfilled the potential inside of themselves.

He was scared – if he thought about it. Scared of letting himself down, scared of letting others down. Even on a Reaping day – especially on a Reaping day. He looked at Angus and continued to fight for his smile. Darker thoughts were like food for the Capitol. Dread and misery, they fed from it.

Carson balled his hands into fists and wiped it clean from his mind. He wouldn't focus on how hard it was when right now it was easy.

Walking.

That's all it was.

Stopping.

Stepping.

He was processed through, ushered by a Peacekeeper, and with Angus in tow, Carson made his way into his section in the Square. No one really paid them attention, something which Carson mirrored. He knew some faces, but most where just blurs to the two boys. So many people were here, it was hard for Carson to be scared of his chances. The fear would always be there, but in a selfish way it was easier seeing who it could be rather than himself.

He tucked that thought away, ignoring it, and stopped with Angus by his side.

"Now we wait."

Angus bit his bottom lip. "I'm scared. I mean, I don't want to be, but I am. My name's in that bowl. Yours is. It could be-"

"It won't." Carson shook his head. "Probably. Possibly. I can't promise anything. It's still such a small chance you might as well not think about it."

He was being a hypocrite, but the sort of hypocrite that was good for his friends. He would always focus on that minute chance when others could use how small it was for their own sense of calm. The two friends smiled at one another once again, before looking up at the sound of footsteps. The Mayor did his usual bit then on with the Escort, proudly waving to them all with a skip to her step, a flourish to her movements.

"And for the girls…" Carson had people he knew. People it could now be. He closed his eyes and wished… wished… wished…

"Neimera Harlen!"

The chosen girl took a while to make herself known. Once she did, Carson watched her small self walk onto the stage, shaky but not in tears. He didn't respect her for not crying. He respected her for simply being there, knowing her future, the fear she must be feeling. Carson watched her attentively as the Escort pulled out another slip.

His observation of Neimera gave Carson the one chance to ignore what was probably the most important part of the Reaping. The male names. When he blinked and focused in on the stage, he realised Angus was squeezing his hand, tighter and harder with each second passing.

"Oh… it's me." He shook Angus' hand off with an apology. He tried to mirror Neimera. Steady Controlled. It was hard with the blood pounding in his ears, the way his eyes started to blur a little, making it hard to discern which was the way to go.

He felt a nudge from behind and realised a Peacekeeper was pushing him forwards. He obeyed quickly, collected himself, and took his place next to Neimera.

The two offered each other a small smile, locked in their mutual fate. Carson felt a thousand things at once. A million thoughts inside his head. The first one he could pin down came to him the moment the Escort started to draw them away.

He jumped for the microphone and cleared his throat. "Home is important. District Eleven is… I'll fight to make it back. Me and Neimera. We won't let you down."

He obeyed with a smile, letting himself be guided into the Justice Building.

He wanted to faint.

He wanted to cry.

He wanted to do everything and nothing all at once.

Instead, he kept smiling. He kept pretending. The fear had been there from the start and it would be there until the end. Hopefully that was true of Carson's fate, now.

Here at the beginning – reaped.

Here at the end – Victor.

Beginnings and ends.

* * *

**Late update. Sorry about that. Don't worry I'll never quit this – three stories into my canon series and with this and one to go, I don't plan on stopping that.**

**I'll admit, and if you saw my note on my profile, having around just over a third of the submitters commenting when I'm only into the reaping stage of this story. Yeah it definitely puts me off. I won't ever quit, but I won't update fast if it stays this way. Basically my update schedule will be tailored to the response of each chapter – more reviews equals speedier updates. That's the way it'll go. **

**I sound ungrateful, sorry, honestly thanks for the support from everyone who has shown it, and those who haven't and are just reading. It genuinely means a lot.**

**Part two of the reapings coming… whenever!**


	6. Savages

**Chapter Six.**

* * *

**Reapings, Part Two.**

* * *

**Luella Aslett, 18 years old;  
District One Female.**

* * *

It was a perfect day. _Too perfect, _almost. Luella swung her arms happily, side by side with the closest people she had in her life. It was reaping day and she could hardly contain her smile, her laughs, her upbeat happiness that continued to radiate from every action and movement that pushed itself onto those around her.

Some might find her suffocating. Luella preferred to think of herself as a ray of sunshine when some people liked the rain, or a pill not everyone could swallow easily. She had those closest to her, anyway. She didn't need everyone. Although it certainly would be easier if they were by her side through everything; she only had their best intentions at heart.

She didn't want to hurt anyone.

Intentionally, or unintentionally.

"Hold my hand," Arion extended his arm by his hip, offering a sideways look at Luella. His brow was creased in that adorably cute way he always had it. Her sisters raised an eyebrow over his shoulder, looking at each other with a frown. Why they were always so sad whenever her boyfriend looked at her, she had no idea.

What did it matter, anyway? Maybe they just didn't understand. Not everyone could understand everything about everyone. It was a way of life, really. Luella liked to think out-of-the-box, she liked to look at the world around her in a light that some found too over the top. It was better to strive for something better than wallow in self-pity and disgust.

He gestured down to his hand once more with a nod. Luella brightened up, hopping to his side and latched her fingers through his. "Don't let go until I tell you too," he whispered out the side of his mouth, voice low, almost growling like a cute little dog. "It looks good when we're together."

"I look good, you could lose a bit of weight." She giggled, cupping a hand over her face. Her sisters shared a laugh. Arion's cheeks went a particularly weird share of red, the end of his nose brightening up as well. Luella knew she'd said the wrong thing, sometimes the words just slipped out. Not everyone had the same sense of humour as she did – they didn't see playful insults as playful, they only saw them as offensive.

Luella put her head in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. "I love you Arion."

He was smiling out at everyone the quartet walked past, down this particular street, the main one congested with people moving for the reaping. "Just keep smiling, alright. Don't embarrass me."

She put his testy attitude as a consequence to what she was about to do. It was natural for him to be on edge when the love of his life was about to volunteer for the Games.

It had been the group's idea. The rest of their friends weren't with them today, but a few weeks ago the idea of volunteering had come up. Luella being the only one of age, she was the one who had the pressure put onto her shoulders. It didn't faze her, though. It was almost exciting. Not the prospect of what she'd have to do, but the idea of living up to her friend's expectations. She only wanted what they wanted. Needed what they needed. If they thought her being a Victor was something the group required, she'd do it.

It wasn't like she hadn't had some training. She'd done the bare minimum.

Here and there.

Ish.

Finally the street opened onto the Square. Luella reached up onto the tips of her toes and pecked Arion on the cheek, pinching it with a giggle. "Don't take too long after the reaping. I want as much time with you as I can get."

He kissed her back, releasing the grip from her hand and off he went without so much as a word in edgeways. Her two sisters walked up to her afterwards, both of them with their eyes scrunched up sadly, frowns on their lips to contest with Luella's buoyant grin. Why couldn't they just be happy for her? She had the greatest boyfriend a girl could ask for, they'd had the most perfect life up until this point. Sure, twists and turns got in the way, bumps and scrapes here and there. But Luella had always been perseverant through disaster – she'd made it this far, she could make it through the Games.

Surely?

_No, _she wrapped her arms round her sisters with another smile, _I can win. I can. They wouldn't suggest I do this if I couldn't._

"You don't have to listen to him."

"Stop this before he gets you killed."

They were the only two to protest against the idea. Luella shook her head. She didn't have enough time to convince them for the hundredth time. With a kiss and another hug, she departed for the Square, lingering on the edge just as the Mayor wrapped up the Treaty.

Nerves swarmed her stomach when the Escort appeared on the stage. She bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood and cringing. For the first time in a while, the smile slipped from her face. A small amount of doubt came about, something foreign with a nasty taste that didn't make Luella feel any better about herself.

She shook it off almost instantly. A girl's name was called. Arion would want her to look brilliant up there. She refused to let him down. Or herself. She cared about her own image – she wanted to look important. She wanted to look like someone with a chance.

"I volunteer!"

With a skip and a jump, Luella bounded for the stage, waving a hand. She laughed when she offered her name into the microphone, and just like that, she was the volunteer for One. People might be sceptical about her, but why should what other people think matter? Luella knew in whatever way she could, she had a future after the Games.

Not death, no, none of the scary stuff. She'd win and come home to everything she loved and cherished.

She had drive. A determination different to what other people might have, but determination was everything in this. If she believed, it could come true.

She offered a wave to her sisters at the back, both of them staring up at her sadly.

They'd see soon enough.

This was the right thing for her.

The best thing.

_I'm coming back, _she thought. _I'm coming back._

* * *

**Rell Arlington, 16 years old;  
District Three Female.**

* * *

"Remind me again why we did that?"

Her two best friends, Sabine and Mimi, were either side of her. Both had their heels not on their feet but in their hands, stumbling along the pavement, ignoring the condescending stares sent their way. Families were gathering for the Reaping – not that it really celebrated family ideals, Rell noted, but it was a moment to unite over love, lamenting over possible loss, which made the stares burn hotter.

Rell tried to ignore them, smiling her silly smile, the same smile she'd worn last night up until this point. It was easier to smile than to cry. Crying wasn't anything bad, she didn't pin it down to weakness, but even if the Reaping was a terrifying ordeal, it didn't mean she should let it affect her.

What was affecting her was the pounding in her head. She wasn't as fashion-minded as her best friends. The weird, old fashioned dress she found herself in, paired with frayed slippers, left much to be questioned. The walk was easier, but the pain was still prevalent. Like a bell, ringing in her ears.

"At least we had fun alright," Sabine said with a dazed smile. The sun was another nuisance. Why did there have to be such a thing as light after a particularly unsettling evening? Headaches didn't like the bright – she kept her eyes half squinted, watching her step so she didn't tumble into some stranger, or fall over and break a leg.

"I think we should do it again tonight," Rell jumped forwards, turning to walk backwards so she could lead the way but look at her friends. She did a funny little hop, continuing over the cracks in the way forward, smiling at her friends. "Last night hurt, maybe it'll numb what we could get up to later on!"

Sabine and Mimi exchanged a look. Rell knew that look better than anyone. Some might call her stupid, or eccentric, or over the top. She was happy to be all those things. The worst thing to be in life was unconfident. She took pride in her quirks, her strengths, even her weaknesses. If she could proudly stick her chest out and say she wasn't perfect, well, that took more courage than believing the best, or believing wholeheartedly you were the worst.

She knew the look because it was a look of exasperation, but a look of excited interest too. She was good at enticing her friends into another night's escapade, even if the one before had been rough, even if they'd promised never to do it again. All it took was one more drink, one more cute guy, and their knees would turn to jelly.

They were only young for so long – why not live it until they had to take more responsibility?

Panem made adults out of those not fit to be adults. She wouldn't lie down and let that happen just yet. She had a good few years left.

Even with the Reaping, she could enjoy herself.

She would enjoy herself.

No matter how everyone else felt.

"Let's just get through this morning first," Mimi laughed, placing her hands on Rell's shoulders. Her messy bright hair spilled over and through her friend's fingers. She looked like she'd just woken up. Rell didn't mind, there was something painful about the light on a head raging with a hangover, but something remarkably satisfying being with her friends, a light breeze against her cheeks.

The little things made all the difference.

Mimi turned Rell round, giggling when their red-haired friend almost toppled over. She placed her feet firmly on the ground and skipped forwards, balancing herself out with a laugh. The moment they neared the Square, all three of them fell to a proper, final silence. Not because they were sad, or overwhelming frightened, but because Rell herself was getting distracted watching everyone walk past her.

It was funny to her, how everyone reacted differently to the same thing. Some admired Rell and her friends for her spirit, some people the same age, the same gender, the same background even, would scorn her for it. It was the same with the reaping. Curiosity always took control over Rell as she was processed forwards.

Girls her age, girls with families that had been through a lot, girls who had friends similar to Rell's, they were huddled up close, some even crying. Others seemed impassive. Others were on the sidelines, alone, holding back tears.

Rell continued to watch even as the Reaping began. Sabine and Mimi chattered nervously. Rell herself felt like she should almost be the one crying, too. That there was something wrong with her. There wasn't, she knew that. She didn't see the Reaping the same way some people did – Sabine and Mimi agreed with her when it came down to the fact they couldn't change what fate had in store for them. They couldn't fight the fact of imminent death if their death was a card laid down on the table.

It wasn't a negative way of thinking, it was more real, if Rell had to pin it down. It was why she lived an exuberant life, knowing the cost of death, the impact it had. How final it was. How sudden.

"Rell Arlington!"

_Speaking of sudden._

Rell didn't quite process it at first. She'd heard her name in a hundred different ways thrown back at her. Happily, angrily, sadly. This time it was said with none of that emotion. Rell blinked twice, struggling to clearly see the stage through the blur of her hangover.

One foot after the other, her stunned silence quickly broke. Like a switch being flicked, it was instant. She did cry, this time. And she laughed alongside her tears. She wasn't sad. She wasn't happy. This wasn't a time to laugh over, but her brain didn't really know how to process it just yet.

Instead, she continued a mismatch of emotion all the way onto the stage. When the male was reaped, a rich, refined, but kind looking boy, Rell's stomach flipped.

Nerves, she thought.

Then when she vomited all over the Escort's shoes, she realised it wasn't nerves.

"Oops," she hiccupped, smiling sadly at the startled boy. Shaking his hand, she then wiped her lips clean and sighed loudly.

It wasn't that she wouldn't fight, she would. To return here, she'd do anything. She loved her mother. She loved her friends. She loved her life, however random it might be.

But she knew what she'd have to do and it scared her.

More than scared her. Change was a funny thing. This would be a bigger change, an impossible amount of pressure put onto a teenage girl's shoulders. A girl that was half here and half there all the time. Not quite glued in one place.

_Maybe I can do it, _Rell thought, being ushered into the Justice Building.

There was really only one way to find out.

The future was a painful thing.

Maybe she'd have one.

Maybe she wouldn't.

She could hope though – she could hope that she'd come home. It was better than nothing.

* * *

**Marshall Kilbourne, 18 years old;  
District Five Male.**

* * *

He had to hurry. In twenty minutes the Reaping would be beginning. Not that he wanted to go, of course. Who did? Marshall had others places to be, people to see, he didn't need this petty distraction of seeing two kids shipped off to their deaths.

He'd try to care more if he ever believed in those that came from Five. Sadly, they never seemed to amount to anything. In turn, Marshall always tried to distract himself with other things. Like his business. Like his fiancée. Like himself.

Sadly, this year, he had a strange feeling that hopeless kid on stage would end up being none other than yours truly. Not that he had a sixth sense or anything. He couldn't tell the future. No, it pinned down to the extortionate amount of tesserae he'd had to take out to feed himself after losing a bet with a very hefty price tag attached.

Marshall was still trying to shake off the ego bashing he'd received after losing that bet. He was known for being quite savvy in that area – sadly, last year proved fruitless. _Oh well, _he thought, smiling at the ring of the bell, attached to the front door of his establishment. _Could be worse._

He wasn't sure what could get worse than the Reaping.

His fiancée leaving him? He was pretty sure he didn't love her – halfway there, at least. It wouldn't be the end of the world. It was nice, though. Having connections with the big kids, the top dogs, the rich and the finest in Five. Guys like him didn't amount to much anywhere, he wasn't oblivious where his kind ended up. By a miracle, by his own skill, he'd wormed his way into the good life.

Being reaped would take him away from that.

_Damn. _A chill raked down his spine, a momentary tidal wave of fear that froze him to the spot. The customer in front of him raised an eyebrow, frowning. It all quickly subsided at the lack of satisfaction the gentleman before him seemed to have for Marshall. He wasn't like this. He didn't get fazed or distracted. No, he was a good businessman.

Imminent death would have to wait. He had a role to play.

"How can I help you sir?"

The dapper man in front of him coughed, attempting a cheerful smile. "Er. Yeah. In a bit of rush with the reaping and all. I could do it after but- Yeah. I need to return this."

Marshall recognised the object placed on the counter. A tacky piece of jewellery he'd convinced the man had been left behind by last year's Escort. The money he'd received from that had given him a lot to pay the loss of the bet off. Marshall tried to repress a frown, a sigh, anything negative. He might look outwardly disrespectful, sleazy, whatever the gossip that was spread about him.

But this though, this was his forte.

He was great at this.

"Can I ask why? A guy like you doesn't strike me as the type of person to want to give up such a precious piece of merchandise. You seem smart, you know this is worth every penny you paid."

"My wife doesn't."

Marshall smiled, fumbling around underneath the desk for a handful of cheap rings he'd found out in the back. "How about I do you a deal, then. If you don't want to keep the necklace, rather than a refund, how about I exchange it for three – yes, three – rings that belonged to the wives of the past three Mayors we've had here in Five?"

He knew he'd gotten onto something. Men like him caved at the sight of treasure. They didn't need to think it through. They had money to spare and a significant lack of brain cells. Working out how people ticked made Marshall feel good – powerful, even.

He smiled at the man as he nodded.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Marshall shook the man's hand. He checked his watch and a few minutes later followed on, closing up shop with a skip to his step. The necklace he could sell again with the same story. Brandy his fiancée must know some very naïve girls who would kill each other for it.

Later. First, the Reaping.

_Oh yeah, the Reaping. Shit._

He tried not to feel a deep sense of foreboding as he walked to the Square. He had to run the last few blocks, down the main street, hightailing it for the tables being packed up on the edge. He was quickly processed through with a glare and a forceful push, something he didn't take too kindly to.

Marshall kept his mouth shut however and shoved his hands in his pockets, chewing on some gum he hadn't realised he'd even picked up, throwing down the brown shades he'd kept in the mess of his hair. He looked appalling. Marshall didn't care, though. Brandy could maintain the superficiality of appearances. Marshall kept it up through his personality and attitude.

Everyone had their skillsets.

He kept a small smirk on his face, clinging to the edge of a row nearer to the back. A girl was halfway up on stage, glaring out across the sea of her fellow citizens. Marshall continued to watch the angry girl when the male name was pulled out.

He focused on her face to distract himself from the dread. Her eyes. Her nose. Her lips. _It won't be me. Not me. Not me. Not-_

"Marshall Kilbourne!"

_Fuck._

Everyone turned to look at him. It was if they all knew at the exact same moment where he was. Marshall offered them all a wave, winking even though his glasses stopped them from seeing it. He tried to remain confident, walking up to the stage. He was proud enough, even though his head was a jumble of emotions, thoughts and questions.

He was scared, though. That was one thing he could pin down.

He could use his words. He could use his brain. But physically… _Yeah. Ouch. _This wasn't going to end well for him. But he could still try. He had that in him. A determination to pick himself from the most hopeless of situations and make something out of it.

Maybe it was possible.

Pretty people didn't always have to win. Perfect people. It was all about the performance – he could give them a show. He had the necessary tools to develop into the right kind of tribute for the Capitol.

"Lovely to meet you," he shook the girl's hand, smiling at her the whole time. It wouldn't be easy. But it wouldn't be impossible.

As long as he had a chance, Marshall wouldn't give up.

Not this time.

Not for his life.

He cherished it too much to let go.

* * *

**Dante Madsen, 18 years old;  
District Eight Male.**

* * *

Blood splashed out from his broken nose, down his trembling lips and onto the concrete. Dante pulled his fist back with a satisfied smirk, before the boy opposite him looked up with such hatred, such loathing in his eyes, he couldn't help but frown and shrug his shoulders.

"Don't pick a fight you can't win," Dante said, waving him off. He eyed his best friend next to him, Jayson rearing for round two. He shook his head with a grin and placed his hand down on his shoulder. "He's confused. He doesn't know what he's doing, do you?"

Both Dante and Jayson looked at the boy, spitting a wad of red onto the concrete. With the back of his hand he wiped saliva and blood from his lips and chin. There was such bitterness in his eyes, Dante pretended not to feel a twinge down his spine. He'd felt angry before – so angry he'd lashed out, thrown the first fist like this boy had done, jumping the two friends on their way to the reaping.

He felt it now, knowing exactly why he'd done this. He had enemies, more enemies than he could count on both his fingers and toes. Probably a number he didn't know about. He had his friends no doubt, his 'lackeys' as some ignorant people called them. They were his best friends, brothers even. But that didn't stop each sharp jibe at his ego, at who he was underneath his rough exterior, his past, his present and future, get under his skin. Rattling around his brain. He felt angry, he felt betrayed even.

Dante knew he wasn't a good guy. But he wasn't what they said he was. He wasn't anything near that.

"Y-You hurt my… sister. You hurt a poor, innocent girl and you… you act like the world is beneath your fucking feet," he growled, staggering forwards, fist clenched. "Touch my sister, or anyone ever again, and I'll… I'll kill you."

Jayson looked practically ready to leap at the boy. Dante raised his hand to block him off, crossing his arms, staring with a raised eyebrow at the poor, delusional, oblivious kid. "Don't make threats you can't back up. I didn't touch your sister. I may be many things but I would never hit a girl. Never. Even bitches like the person you protect."

The boy leaped. Both Dante and Jayson sidestepped, watching him fall into a puddle with a resounding, satisfactory splash. He groaned and writhed, cradling his hands and face as he wept. Dante felt a prickle of sympathy. He was a loyal brother, he'd give him that. But his delusion made him angry. He wouldn't abide misconceptions of what he would and wouldn't do in _his _life.

"I'm not the nicest boyfriend, I'll never stick around for long, be the guy they want. But I wouldn't hurt them, physically, alright? Get your shit together and piss off. Come on Jayson." He motioned to his friend, watching the boy with a smirk.

Dante nodded down the alleyway they had cut through to take a shortcut, nearer to the Square so they could avoid the looks some sent them. Unfortunately for Dante, his conniving little ex-bitch had been too popular. Way too many people looked at the black eye she'd somehow gotten after they'd broken up and hey presto, that was it. Dante was a girl-beater.

Any other time, any other rumour, he'd have snuffed it out before it began. He was tough enough to take care of himself. He didn't take people's shit quietly – he got his hands dirty, used what he had, and more often than not he'd deal with the situation and things would calm down.

This time it wasn't.

He hated her for it.

Pure loathing for the girl that was ruining his life.

Once into the Square, Dante's cheeks continued to burn red with each glare sent his way. He'd punch someone just to make himself feel better. He knew some of these people who now hated him. Dante was never one to sit down and be bored, not one to lose control over his own life. He was good at having fun and knew how to lead a group into the right kind of entertainment. He'd shared a drink with these new enemies. He'd been their friend.

"Fuck them," Dante spat onto the ground, shoving his way into the centre of his section. Any other time he'd have got the best spot in the crowd with his words, rather than his actions. He was physical when needed, but he knew how to woo girls and boys alike. Girls liked charm, boys liked a bit of playful banter to work off of.

But he was too angry to really focus. All he could see was red. All he could feel was this burning desire to hit something, festering deep within.

The ceremony flashed by in a haze. The reaped girl looked underwhelming, nothing spectacular. Dante liked it when they put up a fight in the Games, to at least show something for Eight's chances. She looked like one breeze in the right direction and she'd fall apart.

"Dante Madsen!"

"The fuck…?" Dante looked at Jayson, his otherwise vocal friend shocked to silence. Dante's face went even redder, if that was possible. His hands clenched into fists. Sometimes he'd visualized how he'd play the crowd if this ever happened. All he could see as he walked were the eyes glaring at him, once on stage a girl somewhere in the middle – the bitch that was ruining his life. Then the boy in the puddle.

He felt guilty, he wasn't a horrible person, he just wasn't a very good one either.

Maybe winning would show them something.

Yeah, to win he'd have to break the boundary between bad and awful. But afterwards, maybe he could make it up to the people who were just delusional. The people who were falling for a liar when he had the truth in the palm of his hand.

It would be a long road towards the end, but he could do it. The boy in the puddle hadn't been very difficult to overpower. Sure, there would be tougher tributes, but he'd taken on impossible odds before and come out on top.

He looked at Kira. For the first time today, he shed the anger, smothering it down deep and offered a wink and a hand. They shook, uniting as District partners for the camera.

He'd give them a show.

Then Eight would see.

The real him – messed up, but not broken. Not evil.

He could do it.

He wouldn't be known forever as something he wasn't. He had a reputation to uphold. Respect to piece back together.

An identity to make whole.

* * *

**Not too late. Eh. Maybe a little.**

**Anyway, up next the goodbyes. Two chapters of those and onwards to the Capitol! Maybe once I get there I'll update quicker. That's always more exciting.**

**Oh, I've also published a new story. If anyone was around for my series The 13 Games, it's that again. Not a SYOT but check it out if you're interested.**

**Let me know what you thought!**


	7. Honest Truth

**Chapter Seven.**

* * *

**Goodbyes, Part One.**

* * *

**Prosper Livingston, 18 years old;  
District One Male.**

* * *

Prosper was happy to be here, waiting to say goodbye.

Happy probably wasn't the right word to use. No. It didn't convey the emotion well enough. _Ecstatic. _Prosper was ecstatic to be here.

He'd volunteered. He'd put his hand in the air confidently, smiled out at the crowd and cameras, and up he had gone onto the stage. Prosper was the tribute from One – the male representative, the hero of his District, a young man they'd place all their faith in. He couldn't be happier. Really, truly, the pressure itself might be somewhere, existing within him, but it was as far back as it could be.

Too far back for him to see it. For it to make him see this room for what it was, this situation for what it was, and where his future might end up. The Hunger Games were what he interpreted them as, watching television. They were something he'd idolised, something he'd longed for since being a little kid.

Now, he was a part of the greatest game in the history of Panem.

Why should he be sad?

No. He was ecstatic. It was the only way to sum up how he felt.

Until he came in, that was.

"Father," Prosper stood up, eagerly running forwards, then stopping to control himself. He pat down the creases in his shirt and offered him a hand – confident but poised. He knew his father would like that. The man hadn't been there to offer his words of luck this morning, but Prosper didn't mind. _I don't. I really don't. _He was probably doing something important.

Maybe…

Probably.

_No, definitely._

"Prosper. I- I, er- I see you went through with it then." He looked uncomfortable. Prosper saw the way his eyes seemed to focus in on everything in the room but his own son. He felt his own stomach make a noise at that, a weird feeling that momentarily, almost invisibly, gave Prosper a feeling he'd snuffed out of his life for as long as he could remember.

His father did care. He did in whichever way he wished to show it. Not everyone was like Prosper – he'd trained and seen some people, the nasty people, the people he'd volunteered over because they didn't deserve it like he did. He was the hero of this story, he was the one people should root for because he wasn't just a fighter, but he was a people person. Alliances were formed in this Game, alliances with others his age and that was something he was excited for just as much as the outcome after he was guaranteed his victory.

Some might not see it the way he did. Prosper shoved those differing opinions far away, with the feelings towards his father and the reality of himself, all to the back of his mind. Locked away. The key somewhere – somewhere he hoped he'd never find.

"You know I was always going to," Prosper shook his father's hand, noticing how he had to lock his own fingers round his father's, not the other way round. "District One likes a man of action, not just words. I promised them a tribute, I promised them a Victor, and I'm here. The Games are our pride and joy. My pride and joy. I can do this father. Don't you think?"

He instantly regretted asking that question. Instantly. The way his father's eyes finally fell on Prosper's – the way they seemed to intensify with something, only to fall on the silk carpet at their feet once more. He was dodging. Prosper knew it – Prosper had seen it before in the people he'd tried to be friendly with.

Nothing ever stopped him though. Not from being a friend. Everyone needed a friend. Even his father – it was just them, after all, upholding the Livingston family name. They had to stick together. When he was back, he'd accomplish that tenfold. He'd make everything so much better than it already was.

_Not that's it bad. No. No of course not._

"I think you'll do District One proud, son." His fingers opened, moving towards Prosper's shoulder, then he paused to close them again. Prosper watched with as enthusiastic a smile as he'd worn at the reaping, despite the display before him. This was his own father. It didn't matter, though. Prosper wouldn't let this get him down.

He never let anything get him down. That was another advantage he had – people liked a winner who knew how to feel the happy emotions, knew how to make a crowd feel good, not someone lost and upset and marring their face with an ugly old frown.

"I hope I do you proud too, Father. Honestly, I do. We used to watch the Games together. Do you remember?"

"I remember," his father offered a small smile, something Prosper lapped up like a little puppy, latching onto any sentiment he could get out of the man. It was practically sustenance for the boy. "I just hope you're ready. Panem knows how tough the Games can get."

"Panem always knows how to get the right Victor out of this. Me and Luella will make it to the end. She seems like a nice girl. And then, sadly, she won't make it. But I'll remember her. It's the least I can do, right?"

His father stared at Prosper. For a moment, he thought sadly that he had nothing left to say. Luckily for Prosper, a boy of many words, he opened his mouth and nodded his head slowly. "Yeah. You… you just do the right thing and make it home to your father, alright? I don't want to see you die."

"Die?" Prosper laughed, waving his hand. "I won't die father. People like me don't die."

"Yeah. Well. Um. Sure. Just protect yourself. Don't let me down."

Prosper took a giant step forwards. Not literally, but in the relationship the two shared, what he now did was practically unheard of. He wrapped his arms round the man's stomach, hugging his head into his blazer with a sweet smile on his face.

"I might be an adult but I'll always be your son, Father. I love you."

He felt his hand on his back, rise up, then pat down slowly. It was like he didn't know what to do with himself. Like he had no idea how these types of situations worked. If he didn't, that was alright. Prosper knew all too well how to be with people – any type of person. He let his father awkwardly return the hug because at least they were hugging.

Prosper continued to chatter away, over this and that as the clock ticked down their final few minutes. The one thing he never said, the one thing he hardly focused on himself, was how he knew he felt. How he really, truly, saw himself.

He was happy.

He loved being with people.

And the Games were truly a spectacle he was ecstatic to be a part of.

But in regards to the question of if he was good enough?

As he said goodbye to his father, no part of him came close to doubting it. But somewhere, deep in his mind, it tugged and pulled and twisted its way through the cracks to be released. He wasn't good enough. Maybe he didn't know it yet. Maybe he'd never know it.

But it was always there.

It would forever and always be a part of Prosper Livingston.

* * *

**Eveny Audori, 18 years old;  
District Seven Female.**

* * *

Eveny unwrapped her arms from around her little brother's shoulders. Tears were in his eyes, tears were in her eyes. Both of them had been crying a few seconds ago.

The one thing she managed, though, that he didn't was a smile – something he'd appreciate, something she hoped he'd remember whenever he thought of her in the future. Whatever that future might be.

"I love you, Artie." Eveny kissed his forehead, turning his small frame around and gently nudging him towards their parents. "I love you too mum and dad. Maybe… maybe I'll see you soon."

"Do what you have to do," her father nodded, escorting Artie out. Her mother lingered by the door, her eyes bright with tears, her cheeks flushed with red.

"I love you too. So does your father. We all do."

With that, she left, leaving Eveny to fall back in the chair with a sigh. She held back a sob. She could feel the unquenchable despair in her stomach, maybe her late breakfast working its way up her system. She kept it all back. This wasn't a time to be _that _girl.

Before she did have time to contemplate who she was and who she wasn't, the door opened as quickly as it had closed on her family. Inside, her two best friends ran in, side by side, throwing themselves into Eveny's arms.

She fell backwards in the chair, almost toppling over if not for Tempera's quick thinking. She balanced her best friend out with a laugh, hooking one arm round her neck, the other gesturing their shyer friend Waseau forwards.

This was all she really needed. A day in the sunshine clouded by rain, only for her friends to bring back the light. It was something she appreciated. Something she was good at in return – being there for the people she loved. Eveny was rather basic in that regard, she took life for the simplest pleasures, never regretting, never looking back. Forwards was the only option – that way, every day meant the whole world to her. Every day was a brand new experience, good or bad, to be remembered.

Even on Reaping day, Eveny tried to look forward. The future was dark, but the future had hope. She just had to fight for it.

"You looked like a total ditz up on that stage," Tempera laughed, nudging Eveny in the ribs. She stood back up, curling her shoulders forwards, her eyes crossing and body twitching. A stupid sounding nose rattled out from her throat, before Eveny burst out laughing and kicked her shin gently.

"Stop that, I couldn't help it. You try being reaped."

"Maybe next year- Oh… yeah," Tempera sighed, smiling sadly. "We were so close."

"At least you guys made it," Eveny looked at Waseau, squeezing his hand with a wink. "That's what matters alright. I don't want you guys sacrificing your lives remembering stupid old me."

"If it wasn't for you Eveny I'd have only had this guy to hang out with," Tempera nodded at quiet little Waseau. "No offence of course. You just don't have the right nails for our special girl's night. Shame. Unless you like boys, then maybe we can work something out."

Waseau blushed, then smiled his first smile since entering. That was all Eveny needed to see. He'd been the person Eveny used to be before going back to school after a period of lingering in solitude, distant from her fellow peers. The boy that was pushed around by others, judged and ridiculed for quirks that should be nurtured and cherished.

People who were different were the best kinds of people. Weird wasn't to be rejected, Eveny was just one of those girls who through her past experiences knew that more than anyone. So she'd formed their little group of misfits and here they were. Life was a bitch but at least there were people like her who could try, as impossible a task it might be, to make something of it for as long as they could. Seconds, minutes, hours, days or weeks. Maybe even months and years.

Eveny would always be there.

Now she couldn't. It was tearing her up inside.

Both of them moved back up to Eveny and perched on the ends of the chair. Eveny was a slim girl, her friends weren't exactly the most nourished either. They squeezed in and wrapped up tight. Maybe their last few minutes to do this – be teenagers, be in each other's presence. Like having friends that would always be there, no matter what, in body or spirit.

Eveny held their hands, Waseau and Tempera both looking at her, blinking back tears because they knew Eveny would rather they didn't cry. It wasn't weakness in her eyes, it was simply something that would distract from what they could achieve in these last moments. Simply being next to one another was enough. No false hope. Nothing like she'd gotten from her family.

She simply needed them near her. That was all.

"Whatever happens in the Arena," Eveny started to say, knowing it had to be said before they went. She always focused on the future. It was the future that made these last seconds so important, "whatever you see me do, or see someone do to me, I don't want you guys to ever forget the Eveny that's with you right now. This Eveny is the real Eveny. The Eveny in there will always be the friend that you made, the friend that's right here with you. It'll simply be me doing what I have to do. I need you to remember that."

"We won't judge you for what has to happen," Waseau said, his voice high, quiet and shaky, like a sob was waiting to break free, caged in by his determination to not be the one to break down. Tempera herself nodded too, smiling at Waseau.

"He's right. No matter what, you'll always be this Eveny." She gave the girl in the chair a little shake, kissing her on the top of her head. "Whatever we see you do, nothing will change that."

That was all Eveny needed to hear. She wasn't the perfect friend all the time – she was there as constantly as she could be, she said the things she knew as a shoulder to cry on, a rock in their lives, that they'd need. But that didn't mean she always looked forwards. Sometimes the past crept up and tapped her on the shoulder.

Sometimes she remembered what had happened and resentment bubbled up, a distant threat, but all too real.

Eveny made it her vow, saying a final goodbye to her two best friends, that even if she had to do what tributes had to do, she'd retain who she was. If she didn't stubbornly refuse to acknowledge what she'd have to do to survive, she could still cling to _this _Eveny.

That was all she needed.

She didn't want to be anyone else.

She didn't need to be anything but who she really was inside.

This was her present.

It would also, no matter what, be her future too.

* * *

**Scyla Dericen, 16 years old;  
District Ten Female.**

* * *

Scyla wasn't sure if she wanted to see them.

As she sat impatiently, tapping her foot and whistling to herself, she kept her eyes nervously on the door. Who would enter first? She hoped it was her friends. She was scared it would be her parents. Some part deep inside of her wanted it to be them. Of course she wanted to say goodbye to the people that had brought her into this world.

No matter what, no matter how she acted like she felt, Scyla wouldn't deny herself the truth that she still… loved them. They were her parents.

Her mother and father.

She paused, falling silent at the sound of the door slowly creeping open. Scyla's heart started to beat, faster and faster, thumping against her ribcage, her breath held, throat tight with nerves. It was a strange feeling for Scyla – she wasn't exactly the type to sweat over any kind of situation. Be it normal or abnormal.

In fact, she welcomed the abnormal with open arms. Where was the fun in boring?

Scyla let out a sharp breath, almost a sigh mixed with a squeak. Her parents stood in the doorway and awkwardly moved on into the room, side by side without any vigour or emotion towards their daughter. Of course, Scyla hardly showed anything back at first. Nothing except widened eyes, pale face and lips trying to form words.

When she couldn't do that, she fell back into the cushion and did what she knew best. Crossing one leg over the other, she let her arms fall casually by the legs of the chair and cocked one eyebrow. It was if she was inviting them to make the first move. Scyla certainly wouldn't.

Every single part of her screamed that she cared, but all of that she stuffed deep down inside and locked away. If she could be the daughter that had left them, the daughter that he'd had the gall to disown, then she wouldn't feel so uneasy. So confused.

It was her mother who finally broke the silence, taking a step forwards, rethinking it and joining her husband's hip again. "Scyla. I…" She continued to stare, half-amused, at her parents. "I-I don't know what to say."

"Brilliant," Scyla rolled her eyes with a laugh and jumped up, with her arms crossed round her chest, taking a step forwards and shrugging her shoulders. "Hands down this is the best goodbye I'm sure Ten has ever seen."

"Don't start with us," her father snapped. Scyla looked at him, trying so hard to keep the expression she wore controlled and focused. It was hard, seeing his angry eyes locked on her own. He was testing the waters, slowly pushing himself forwards, forcing her back into herself. He wanted to see her say sorry.

That was something she'd never do. Not because she was too stubborn, but because she didn't see why she should be sorry for leaving. They wanted to keep her wrapped in a little golden shell of emptiness, depriving her of a life. That was their doing. She'd always needed more.

In turn, she'd become this Scyla. There was no going back.

"We'll miss you Scyla." Her mother looked nervously at her husband. Scyla felt bad for the woman – her husband wasn't an abusive man by any means, he loved her, but he was proud. Was it alright to say that to a daughter he felt betrayed by? Scyla hoped it was. She took another step forwards and smiled, opening her arms.

"Hugs aren't poisonous." Another step towards her mother. "Luckily I didn't inherit father's chest so I won't suffocate you."

"Excuse me-"

"Calm down. Lighten up. I'm dead anyway. Might as well enjoy what we have left, right?" She felt a prickle of guilt overwhelm the happy, humorous exterior she was wearing. _No, it's not a mask. _She always had to remind herself of that when she thought about her parents. The Scyla they'd wanted was the mask – this Scyla was the girl underneath.

It wouldn't do her any good thinking about death just yet. Scyla closed the gap and wrapped her arms round her mother's thin shoulders. She was a small woman, but so was Scyla. For the first time in what felt an eternity, she was being comforted by the woman that had created her. For a second it was overwhelming, too much for Scyla to smile through the tears that threatened to spill.

But she wasn't going to crack, or break, or fall apart. Not here in front of them. Not in front of her friends when they came. Not for the Peacekeeper outside the door, smugly standing there like the asshole he was.

They could see whatever they wanted, pretend to see whatever they desired. But no tears. That was one thing she'd promised herself the moment she'd stepped onto the stage.

"Why did you have to go, Scyla?" She heard her mother whisper into her ear. Scyla closed her eyes and shook her head, shaking in her arms. "We had a good life. We gave you everything."

"Sometimes nothing is better than everything. I built something of myself."

She could feel her father's glare hot on her head, staring straight into her soul. If he judged her for the choices she'd made, well at least she'd given herself a choice. He wouldn't understand. Daughters were meant to obey fathers.

They didn't do what Scyla did.

"You became… this. Scyla, this isn't a good thing. This is bad. You could get in a trouble."

"We have fun," Scyla pulled away from her mother, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. "It's something the Dericen family doesn't know."

"There's fun and there's breaking the law. You should be grateful we haven't reported you to the-"

"Alright alright, you're the boss. I didn't say goodbye last time I left, now I'm leaving again. Can't you say it… for me? For you? For us as a family?"

Scyla hoped he would say the word. More than anything, she needed it.

She didn't see herself coming back. Scyla didn't hurt people unless they hurt her. She didn't outright strive to be a bad person – she simply did things with the people that her mother and father would never accept into her lives.

It didn't mean she abided by their way of living completely.

He had to understand that. She wouldn't be coming back. Their precious Dericen daughter would be dead. Surely that meant something.

Surely…

"Goodbye, Scyla." He said, looking at the ground. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye dad."

It was enough.

It had to be.

A goodbye meant the whole world to Scyla. A goodbye meant he loved her.

It was all she'd really wanted.

One, simple, easy goodbye.

* * *

**Lucas Roux, 16 years old;  
District Twelve Male.**

* * *

He didn't have any friends.

Of course, Lucas wouldn't say that he was particularly bothered by the lack of one in his life. If he was, he was hardly the sort to admit that to himself. Some people needed constant support in their lives, some people just didn't have the backbone to stand on their own two feet. Lucas wasn't one of those people.

He didn't need a friend.

He really didn't.

The doors opened finally. It had been a long wait of Lucas going over and over how he was thinking, trying to string together one coherent thought amongst the mess. He hadn't been angry enough to throw a chair, or sad enough to curl into a hopeless ball and sob his anguish away. No. He'd had a lot of questions, though.

Why him? What was the plan now? Did he have a future, or did he see no hope? He tried to see a fighter in himself, but looking in the glass mirror to the right of him, all he saw was the Lucas other people saw. It was the Lucas no one really liked. He didn't see it in the sense he disliked himself, on the contrary, he was confident in who he was.

He saw someone that wasn't necessarily Victor material though. He'd have to work on that. He was determined to go in the Arena with something on his side – he wouldn't lie down and accept death. Lucas was a fighter in his own way.

"Father," he said, with a small smile on his face. Amongst people his age, people younger, or a little bit older, Lucas would speak to them the way he saw fit. If they were respectable people, had something going for them, he could control himself. If they were like the majority of dimwits he had to suffer through, he wasn't afraid of saying whatever came to his mind.

A jackass he might be, but that didn't stop him from sharing his thoughts. They were good thoughts after all. Smart enough for this ashen District he had to suffer through.

"Lucas. You seem settled."

He smiled again, nodding his head. "Guess so. Where's mum?" For a minute, Lucas felt his heart drop. It hadn't been particularly high to begin with – regardless of who he was or how he thought, being reaped for his probable death didn't excite him much. He wasn't arrogantly going to assume he'd win. But the lack of someone he truly, actually loved… for a moment Lucas' mouth opened and closed, until his father smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

"She's a mess. She wants to calm down before coming in. A goodbye needs an actual goodbye, she said, not some sobbing wreck embarrassing her son."

Lucas and his father both laughed at that. These were the times Lucas could relax more, the times when he didn't have to think in a judgemental way because there was no one around him he had any right to consider in that light.

He continued to stare at his father, a sadder smile on his face than the one he'd had a few moments ago. The older man crouched down, levelling his eyes with his son's. "Do you think you can do this?"

He had an answer on the tip of his tongue. He had the second he'd been reaped – regardless of what questions went through his mind, reality was far too pressurizing, far too heavy, to ever ignore. No one could escape the truth. It was something Lucas admired about himself: he didn't let false hope get him down. Instead, he fought for other reasons. He fought because trying was better than outright believing good things would happen indefinitely.

"Do you want the real answer, or the one I should probably tell my father during what could be our last goodbye?" Lucas raised an eyebrow, sinking backwards into the chair. His father was better at dealing with Lucas' true self – he understood better than anyone, maybe because they were similar in that regard. This goodbye could very well be permanent. No point covering it up with empty words.

"The truth."

Lucas nodded. "The truth is I don't know. Nobody knows. My chances are lower than some, probably higher than others. I'm not trying to see things in a negative way, but yeah, I probably won't be coming back…" Lucas paused, frowning. The prospect of death suddenly sent a chill down his spine. Of course it did. Death wasn't exactly something to accept with open arms.

"But that's not to say I can't. Any one of us twenty-four can. It's better to focus on the negative side of things, the fact I won't be coming home, so I'm more prepared. Right?"

"Right."

Before either could say another thing, the door opened and in came Lucas' mother. Immediately, she dove straight for him, her husband getting out of the way for Lucas to be smothered by her large embrace, pulling her into her dress. He could tell she was still crying, though by the way his father had explained it, she'd probably been a lot worse a few minutes ago.

He was happy to be with her. Not happy because of the circumstances, but happy because he truly did love her. He truly did care that this was a goodbye that he needed to say. She mattered a lot to him. Not many ever really did – Lucas wasn't the most welcoming sort. But these two had raised him. They'd given him a good life.

He appreciated it. He showed his gratitude in those that were entitled to it.

Not everything about him was distasteful.

"You're not going anywhere." Her voice was growing stronger as she stood up. Lucas nodded, looking over her shoulder and into his father's eyes. He frowned. She wasn't like the two of them. The odds didn't matter because this was her son, her precious baby boy going into a place she couldn't protect him from all the monsters. That wasn't something a woman like her could accept so lightly.

The idea of death… no. No that was absurd. He'd win. He'd win no matter what.

Lucas wasn't the sort to wish _if only _to that thought process. He was glad he wasn't like his mother. Glad he didn't let himself be brought down by believing so he didn't have to try so hard.

The fact he was almost so sure of his death gave him, potentially, that extra push to make sure it didn't happen to him. It was a rebellious act in its own right, fighting against probability. Fighting knowing how slim the chances are.

"I love you, Lucas. I love you so much." She kissed him on the cheek, gripping onto his hand so hard he could feel the bones grinding.

Lucas said the same words back. Over and over, a hundred goodbyes until they were taken from him. Once they were gone, he fell back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other, slumping his chin into his hands.

His mother might believe one thing, his father another, Lucas leaning more towards the truth of his situation, but nothing was ever for certain.

They all had a chance.

Everyone had a shot.

He looked at the door and sighed, slipping further down the chair. Not just for himself, but for those he loved, he'd fight at least. He'd never give up. Win or lose, at least he'd have fought.

At least he'd have gone out, knowing he'd given it his all.

What more could he ask for?

* * *

**One more of these pre-Capitols left and no more! I'm excited for that. These are dragging on, I'll admit, so it'll be fun to get to the more interesting stuff.**

**Thanks for all the reviews so far, genuinely means a lot. If you have the time to comment on this chapter, I appreciate it :)**


	8. Perfectly Wrong

**Chapter Eight.**

* * *

**Goodbyes, Part Two.**

* * *

**Belarius Orleans, 18 years old;  
District Two Male.**

* * *

Belarius started to play a game.

He wagered with himself as he sat patiently, hands crossed in his lap, on who would come through the door first. Maybe his family, who would once again pat him on the back with reserved smiles and something in their eyes akin to the very thing that made Belarius drink more.

Or his friends who were the people he did the drinking with.

It was a fun, albeit confusing, mismatch of personalities and attitudes. He associated himself with anyone who gave him the time of day, even sometimes those who didn't. Not everyone came around, but most did. It was easier to forget that way – easier to forget about monotony if people were able to open up and have fun.

Two's version of fun happened to be the very reason Belarius was sat in this room. However for his own sake, he tried to relax and forget about that. He was talking about other kinds of fun. The fun he loved. The fun he'd practically become addicted to.

The way into this rather impressive room he'd been forced into slowly opened. He sat on the edge of his chair, literally speaking, hands over the edge and put on a winning smile. Whether it was friends or family, he was excited to say goodbye.

Excited and terrified. Funny how emotions worked.

His big sister Diana, Peacekeeper helmet underarm, strode on into the room. For a second, Belarius was quite shocked. It was strange, of all the relatives or people close to him he'd expected first, it wasn't his rigid, impassive, yet surprisingly warm elder sister. He'd expected her to come say goodbye, just not first.

Oh well. He wasn't upset to see her. On the contrary, Belarius shot up from the chair and opened his arms wide, smiling at his sister, practically beaming, forcing some essence of positivity to smother the truth behind everything. "They let you have time off work to come say goodbye to little old me?" He patted her on the back enthusiastically.

He could feel her grow tense in their embrace. She knew kindness, just her own brand of it. Cosy intimacy with family wasn't the sort she understood. Belarius didn't blame her, either. He'd grown apart from his parents in his own way. She'd decided to become a Peacekeeper. Each to their own, it was the way he liked it.

"I don't have very long. The others are on their way and your friends will most definitely want to see you."

"Most definitely," Belarius pursed his lips, rolling his eyes before erupting into more laughs. "Unclench, Di'. Nothing bad can happen here."

"I don't know what you mean."

He rolled his eyes again. "Your little brother is going off into the big bad world. Can't you at least act like you're sorry to see me go?"

Belarius knew that about his elder sister. As distant as she'd like to appear, she had the same sort of outlook on this whole volunteering thing that Belarius hid away. She didn't want him to go. She might support the Capitol in terms of being one of their soldiers, proudly wearing the white uniform Belarius constantly made fun of, but that didn't mean she was exactly happy to see someone she cared about be shipped off into a death match.

There was a difference between serving your country in the safety of your own home District, and being paraded around in a city a couple of hundred miles away. Belarius didn't fear the chances of him coming home. Preparation, right? But still, he and his sister had every right to be doubtful.

It made him human. He hated the feeling, but would always be happy it was there.

It reminded him he wasn't like so many others here. He had a heart.

"I'm sorry to see you go, Belarius." She took a step towards him, nearly rethinking it, only to step forwards again. Belarius felt a strange warm glow in the pit of his stomach. He'd hug her again, only this time, he didn't want to overstep without her permission. "You're just… you're acting so casual. I thought you'd take this more seriously."

"Who says I'm not?"

"I am," she gestured with one hand, from his head, down to his feet, with an unsatisfactory frown on her face. "You've always been this way, I get it. I just want you to realise the position you've put yourself in and look at it from my perspective."

"People smile, Di'. Just because I might look like I don't care, I truly do. I know where I am right now, where I'm going, I'm just choosing to exhibit my reactions in the way I know best." He stepped closer towards her, the gap between growing smaller. "Honestly, I'm touched you care so much, but you have to let me make my own choices. Let me fuck up my own life. I don't need to be told what I can and can't do. How I should or shouldn't be acting."

She sighed, looking down at the carpet for a second. He feared he'd overstepped. Belarius wasn't exactly the most tuned into the emotions of others – not in a callous, apathetic way, more in the sense that he preferred to shove that aside and be a good sport for them all. Whether he wanted to or not, it was easier to ignore how they might feel, if he could make them feel in a more relaxing, better way.

Instead, his sister took one more step, practically an inch or two from him, and tried to smile. It was better than anything Belarius had seen before. "If there's one thing I know about you, you're practically itching for me to tell you I'm proud. Don't deny it. You like it when someone affirms the way you see yourself. I'd lie to you and walk away, but honestly, in my own way, I am proud. I just don't want you to get hurt. I don't want to see my little brother in pain."

"I don't want to see you in pain either, Diana. But you became a Peacekeeper. I've become a tribute. We don't always get what we want in life."

"I know you wish otherwise." Diana pulled him in for another hug, on her own terms, bringing one hand up to hold onto the back of his head. Belarius felt her sigh, felt her practically holding back some sense of emotion he'd never gotten out of his cold sister. It made him almost sad, almost guilty, that he'd been the one to make her feel this way.

"I'll be back soon, I promise. You've seen how I am with the folks in this place. I care about a few, but the others are only there as drinking partners and the occasional-"

"-Belarius, I don't need to hear about-"

He laughed, pulling away. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just saying, it'll be easier for me. I think I'm in the best position, really. I'll make the right acquaintances I need, but when the time comes, I'll do what all the best tributes do and… move on. Moving on sounds the best thing for me. Before I let them hold me down. I'll win before they get the chance."

"Your disloyalty astounds me."

"It's practicality," Belarius placed a hand on her sister's shoulder. "I'll do whatever it takes. I'm a persistent fuck, maybe I'll annoy them to death."

Diana laughed, pushing him away with a smile. "I wouldn't put it past you."

It was the truth: Belarius' life had moulded him into a guy that was good with people, good at being a friend, but not the sort to place his trust easily. In the Games, that would help him. It would help him more than he cared to really admit.

He didn't want to feel like a bad person, but for his family and for himself, it was just the way it had to be. For now, though, for the time before the Games, if he could forget and have fun, then it'd do him a world of good.

Just because he was a Career, didn't mean he wasn't a teenager at heart.

He'd take it seriously in his own way.

He'd win on his terms.

He'd become the Victor by being Belarius. If he could be Belarius, no matter what, he'd do what had to be done.

The journey was worth it if victory was the finish line.

For the chance to win, Belarius was ready.

* * *

**Vallah Marchant, 17 years old;  
District Nine Female.**

* * *

Vallah stood up when the door opened.

Before she could stop herself, she leaped up from the chair and took three giant steps forward, blocking her parents full entry into the room. Her mother jumped up at the sight of her so close, expecting her to be in the chair, stationary, waiting.

Waiting wasn't exactly Vallah's style. She couldn't keep her head down when… when _this _had happened. This- This… _dammit._

Vallah shook her head at the sight of her family stood in the doorway, staring at her. She ignored the Peacekeeper lingering on the outer edge, clearly miffed that she was obstructing their way in. She didn't care. She didn't.

"Before you come in and say your goodbyes, I do not, repeat, do not, give you permission to cry." Vallah chuckled nervously, shaking her head. "If you cry, I'll cry, and if I cry, I'll look like a mess, and if I look like a mess then I'll feel like a mess and- No. Just don't cry. For me."

For a second she expected Ferro, her dorky, annoying brother to say something. She expected her mother to go against that immediately, her pudgy cheeks scrunching up as hot tears slipped from her eyes. Her father or grandfather, the latter all short and stumpy, but cheery as always, to do the crying despite her wishes.

Vallah expected all of that, but instead, they nodded and slipped into the room, pushing her backwards. Immediately, before she could say anything, or process exactly how she felt, she was buried in a tangle of arms and legs. Vallah's head went under, like she was being drowned in an ocean of limbs, and up she went, resurfacing from their embrace.

"Dammit, guys." Vallah wiped a tear underneath her eye, scowling, then giggling. "I didn't want to cry."

"So soppy," she felt her father pinch her cheek, ruffling her hair. "You sure didn't get that from me."

"I didn't get my good looks from you either." Vallah joked, punching him gently in the stomach, laughing at the way his face contorted with shock, then the same chuckling he was famous for breaking the unease in the air.

If Vallah could freeze time she'd sell her soul to do so. The clock was the one thing in this room, apart from her family, that was so obvious to her. There, like a tiny little wooden demon, ticking away her minutes, ticking away her time to say goodbye to the ones she loved. She hated that clock. She wanted to punch that clock and tell it to go fuck itself.

Instead, Vallah as the girl that would always smile away her anger, tucked that thought and laughed again. It wasn't the clock's fault she was here. It wasn't even really the fault of the escort lady on stage with her pink nails and cotton-candy hair. No. No it was nobody's fault but the one who had created these Games in the first place.

Vallah let all the negative emotion wither away and die out. Later she could cry herself to sleep. Right now she had people she needed to say goodbye to. They came first, her wellbeing did not.

"Here's the deal," Vallah said, stumbling backwards to untangle herself from her family. "I'm going to go into that Arena. Whether it's a forest, a factory, or even a toilet, whatever the hell they force me into, and then I'm going to fight my damn hardest to come back alright."

"You know they all say that?" Her brother said, lips curled into a smirk.

"You know they all say you're ugly." Vallah couldn't think of a better comeback. She loved her brother, he was simply a jackass at times. She wanted to give a rousing speech about how determined she was to win this. Because, yeah, as hard as it might be, she was determined. She had every damn right to stand here in front of her family, the girl that she was, whether that was impressive or not, and believe in herself.

Because if she didn't believe in herself, what was she? Why should she get on that train and not tackle a Peacekeeper, steal their gun and shoot herself in the head instead? It would be a lot faster. A lot easier. A lot less painful.

No. No she wouldn't give up. If she gave up, that was it. These people in front of her would never get to annoy Vallah again, love her, hug her, drown her in their smothering but loving warmth.

"I'm going to come back, piss you all off some more, be the Vallah I know you all truly love deep down, and then live the rest of my life."

Her grandfather smiled a crooked, yellow-toothed, but tender smile. "It'd be pretty funny if the Arena was a toilet, huh? Don't you worry, I know my granddaughter, you'll flush away the competition and come back home to us." He looked awfully proud of himself at that one. Vallah rolled her eyes, laughing.

"Flush the competition away. Toilet Arena. Really?" They all hugged again, the Marchant family kept their eyes dry, but their words of love and hope and this and that continued to attack Vallah's exterior. She'd always been competitive, always had a drive that sometimes might exceed the positive, healthy kind, but that didn't stop her from truly believing, that right now, even with that bastard of a clock she really hated counting her goodbye to a zero, she couldn't do this.

Someone had to win. Someone had to live. It could be that guy she was going with, Alaric something. It could be a Career, trained into some hulking gorilla set to smash mode. But it could also be her.

As long as it _could _be her, there was no one to say it wouldn't.

"I love you guys," Vallah said, pulling away when the Peacekeeper came to take her family away. She could be happy, even in a situation designed to sap the life from everything around her. If she smiled, she was fighting something they were trying to take away from her.

It was one small victory, already, at this stage, that she'd won.

Now she had another. A bigger game to win.

Winning the Hunger Games? _Pfft, I can do this. _It wouldn't be easy. But what was?

She liked the idea of competition.

Vallah saw herself winning. Sometimes she'd get into fights she couldn't always win, but that never got her down. Sometimes she jumped into situations that she really should have thought through first of all. No one was perfect.

Vallah, though, as long as she kept her head screwed on right, had a shot.

"See you soon." With their backs turned, she waved them away, smiling as the door closed. "I'll see you all soon."

Hope, it was the most important thing.

Everyone needed hope.

* * *

**Dominic Larson, 18 years old;  
District Ten Male.**

* * *

His mother and sisters were the first through the door, his first goodbye since coming here.

"Look, I'm sorry." Dominic raised his hands up defensively, seeing the stern look on his mother's face. For a second, he was about to apologise again, when his eyes fell on little Nora's swollen cheek, a handprint shining like the very bruise that would soon form. As soon as he saw that, all apology died on the tip of his tongue.

He'd planned on smiling. Now he only felt angry. "Those bastards hit her just because she was upset to see me go."

"She shouldn't have stepped out." His mother bit her bottom lip, stepping closer towards Dominic, herding his two sisters in with a tap on Nora's shoulder. "They know better than to interfere at a reaping."

Dominic was a surprisingly easy-going guy at the best of times, but like a switch being flicked, his temper was sometimes too much for him to control. He preferred to think of it as being normal – everyone had their emotions. Some bottled it down, he wore them on his sleeve, as annoying as it might be for him and others.

If someone else had said that after his sister had been hit in the face, he might have done the same and asked them how it felt. This was his mother. The woman that had raised them through troubled times, only growing more and more troubled herself. Dominic knew she loved them in her own way, knew she hated the Peacekeeper that had done this to her daughter, but that didn't change how she had to act.

So Dominic swallowed down his hatred for the men outside this room and stepped forwards, bending down to both his sisters. As he looked into their eyes, one set bruised and purple, the other bright and blue, Dominic's heart leapt up into his throat. It was hard for him, knowing where he was going, and knowing where his sisters would always be.

Ten was better than the Games, no question about it. But it wasn't exactly a good place for most people. If Dominic could scoop his family and friends in his arms and fly away he would. One time, as a younger kid, Dominic had tried that. He'd had the notion of flying, believing he could as an immature little child would, only to injure himself in the process.

It had been cute. Reckless, but cute. He felt like an idiot admitting that sometimes his mind went ahead much faster than the rest of him. Sometimes his ideas were stupid.

He'd have to buckle down and get with it. He knew that in the Games, he couldn't just ignore precautions and jump in without thinking. If he did that he'd die. His sisters only reminded him that he could not die. He would not die. Everyone had their families, he knew that, he wasn't an idiot to forget that the other twenty-three in this position were saying the same thing.

However, it didn't change the fact that his family meant more to him than his own sets of morals. Right now, he'd do anything. Anything to make it back.

He hoped in the future he'd have the same mind-set. The Arena was a terrible placed. It changed people.

_Not that I'll change. I never change. Whether that's a good or a bad thing, who knows._

"You treat us like little girls, Dom'. We're fourteen." Anna pouted, running a hand through her hair.

Dominic laughed, pretending not to see the tears brimming under Nora's eyes. If he latched onto those, he might cry himself. He refused to cry. Crying was a weakness he couldn't afford to let control him. Maybe other people looked at crying in a different way, they might see it as opening up.

Dominic didn't. If he didn't cry, he could pretend that everything would be alright. Pretending, believing, they were two parts that helped towards making something come true in reality.

He had to retain that inside of him. Always.

Dominic stood up, straightening his back so he stood over the three females in front of him. His mother stared into his eyes, his sisters did the same thing. Dominic wanted this goodbye to run smoothly. After they left, though, he knew potentially his father might be on the other side of that door.

The thought scared him more than he cared to admit.

"I trust you'll do your best. I mean- I want you to. I hope you do. We'll support you all the way." His mother's voice practically told of something that was the complete opposite of support. Still, coming from her, the word meant a lot more than it might from someone else. Dominic nodded his head and smiled at her.

"You've always called me stubbornly determined. Maybe for once that'll do me some good."

"Like you believe it's never been good," Anna smiled, sticking her tongue out. "Everything in your head is a good idea. Just make sure that winning is always there, then it'll happen. You're coming back, Dom'"

"I'm coming back." He nodded, for his family and for himself.

In the future, the very near future, he'd meet the other tributes and that would be where he excelled. He could make friends, he could get people on his side. He knew eventually where it would have to lead, what would have to happen to them so he could win, but right now the fact that he tried so hard to see himself winning, that particular thought didn't bother him in the slightest.

Maybe one day soon it would. Maybe one day he wouldn't be able to live up to it.

Now, and pretty much all of his life however, Dominic had never let himself doubt his conviction. He'd never let himself believed the way he thought could and would fail. That was something he was happy with. His mother might scorn his conviction. Dominic was proud of it.

"I guess you better go, before they… they try to force you out." His eyes hovered over Nora's swollen face once more, anger rattling through him. "Look after each other. I'll be back soon."

"Yeah you will," Anna said, confidently nodding her head.

"You better." He watched Nora turn around, his eyes following her sisters and mother out the door, clinging to those two words.

_You better._

He would.

Everyone said it, but it had to come true for one person. One out of twenty-four.

How hard could it be?

Very hard, but not impossible.

* * *

**Neimera Harlen, 15 years old;  
District Eleven Female.**

* * *

Neimera looked up when she heard the door opening.

In walked Ailyah, her step mother, her hair done up in a bun, a woven scarf round her neck, and a baggy dress lightly dragging along the carpet as she walked closer and closer to Neimera.

The reaped girl sat with a small smile on her face, hands clasped tight together. She didn't say a word. She hardly felt a thing or let her mind become invaded with unwanted thoughts. The more and more she emptied, the more and more she felt free. It was a teaching of her stepmother. It made her feel eerily calm, when she knew, deep down, it was the opposite of what she should be feeling.

"Do not cry," Ailyah finally said, running her hand along Neimera's pale cheek. She was either looking for tears or was genuinely concerned. Neimera knew she was both. Ailyah and her loved each other, being one of the only women she saw on a regular basis. It had always been hard for Neimera. The reapings she had never feared in the conventional sense. Not the bowls on stage. Or the weird women with bird-like feathers sprouting from her back. None of that had scared Neimera.

It was the people around her. She wasn't necessarily bad at talking to them, but it was so many, so many different faces, so many strangers. Neimera had enjoyed a relaxed life.

In someways, she was glad to be in this room. It meant she had only herself. Only herself and Ailyah, the one person she cared about more than anything in this world.

"I'm happy you're here," Neimera spoke softly, her back still poised upright against the chair. It was another thing she was taught to do – she could think calm as long as she behaved calm. Peace was a hard thing to come by in life. Neimera had been taught a lot of things. Would they translate into the Hunger Games? She had no idea.

She knew what the Games were. Just not the specifics. She didn't know what parts of her would do her justice in there. Which parts would draw her back. She didn't know. Part of her didn't care. She was just happy to be with Ailyah. Happy to be able to have the chance to say goodbye. The sadness washed away as she felt her stepmother's hands clasp round her own.

"We remain strong. We look to the future and hope that fate has more in store for us. The darkness that is the Hunger Games will not take you yet. Not yet. We have to believe, okay Neimera?"

Neimera nodded, a soft smile on her face. It was easy to be lost in the trance that Ailyah's words put her under. Easy to be guided by a woman that shared her beliefs. That was another reason why it was so hard for Neimera to be with all the other children.

No one thought the way she did.

No one understood.

"Will you be sad without me there? I know we had a lot of work to do. I know-"

"Don't worry," Ailyah shook her head, silencing Neimera from continuing. "I care more about your wellbeing than what work we have to do. You can continue when you get back. I know you'll come back." Neimera felt her hands being squeezed comfortingly. She soaked it all in, letting the warmth and kindness become absorbed into who she was and how she had to be in the future.

It was the very future that Neimera remained focused on. Ailyah had always taught her that fate was the key player in their existence. That everything happened for a reason. Maybe that was why Neimera had never been scared of the actual reaping – if it happened, it was meant to happen. If it happened, there was a reason why the lady had chosen Neimera's name in particular.

Ailyah had taught her to remain calm if something bad happened, because if you remained calm, the future would shape itself into something lighter. She had to ignore the prospect of death. She had to remain bright. She had to do the very things Ailyah would expect of her.

She had to be the person she'd been brought up to be.

"Once you get on that train, I won't be there to help you anymore. Trust in those that will accompany you, your mentors, and do as they say. I know you're a smart girl, you won't disobey them."

"I won't," Neimera said, nodding her head.

"There's not much I can say or do that will change anything. Whatever the path before you, it's already been created. Just know that if you believe in making it back to me, chances are you can make it. I believe in you, I always have." Ailyah tucked a bit of Neimera's hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek with a gentle, yet mystical smile. "You can do this Neimera."

Where she was going, it was a place Neimera had no knowledge of. The Games maybe, but the Capitol, the other tributes, it was all new territory to her. She'd been so encased in a bubble all her life, stuck to routine, living it the way she knew how, that the unknown frightened her.

Externally, she held her tongue, she did everything the way she knew she had to. For Ailyah's sake, if not her own. Inside, though, as the two sat in silence, enjoying each other's company in these final moments, the peace Neimera was fighting for slowly started to dissipate as she thought through the very future they'd been speaking about.

Her small community within Eleven had been fighting for so long to strengthen their ways of life. Fight was practically part of who they were. A peaceful fight, if such a thing existed. It wasn't the kind of challenge that Neimera knew the Games would ask of her, but maybe perhaps that was the part of who she was that she could use to help her in her future.

She could use who she was to win.

There was a knock at the door, drawing Neimera from her thoughts and back to the kind smile her stepmother wore for this moment. She took her hand again, squeezed it once more, and stood up, pulling away from the young girl. She stared, for a second, longing for more time. Longing for her to not be forced into the Capitol.

She wanted to stay.

She wasn't ready. She'd never be ready.

But when the door was closed, there was nothing for Neimera to do but hold back the tears, not cry like she knew Ailyah would expect, and do everything she'd been raised to do. Her name had been pulled from that bowl for a reason. She was a tribute because it had to happen.

Now, she had to go somewhere she'd have to learn to adapt to.

It might be easy, it would probably be hard. Neimera was used to the easy way of life, but in a sense, the challenge had always been there, a part of her existence from the very beginning.

Maybe she didn't need to worry. Neimera could let things happen the way they had to happen, believing, controlling what she could control, and letting fate run its course.

Her future was unknown. Life or death, she had no idea.

But she could still fight. She would fight. For herself and for Ailyah.

Neimera wasn't a quitter.

This was a chance for her to prove herself, a chance for her to be something, a someone. A chance she might not ever get again. It wasn't something she'd let slip through her fingers.

It was time to do what had to be done.

It was time to fight for her future, whatever it may be.

* * *

_**A final chart of tribute opinions now they've all been shown?**_

* * *

**And that's all of them!**

**With this chapter completed, there's a poll on my profile asking for your top five favourite tributes. It'd be really helpful if you could all actually choose five. Most do, I know some don't ;P**

**Oh, also, I highly recommend to everyone a new SYOT that was published last night. It's by Theon Baejoy, a good friend of mine. I have it favourited, so go check it out and submit a tribute, I know it'll be great!**

**A big thanks to everyone by the way, I've reached over 100 reviews, it means a lot to me!**

**See you with the first of the next round of chapters. Onwards with the more exciting stuff :D**


	9. Famous

**Chapter Nine.**

* * *

**Train Rides.**

* * *

**Adrina Lear, 17 years old;  
District Six Female.**

* * *

Adrina found herself slowly going insane.

Her Escort was mumbling to herself somewhere in the corner, sipping tea from a china cup and giggling quietly. Anyone else might move on from it, but Adrina couldn't help but pick up on the little things at the moment. They were distractions she craved, but distractions that were doing her more harm than good.

Rain tapped against the window, rapping the glass like it wanted to escape the outside world, forcing its way into this shell of luxury she'd been entombed in. Adrina couldn't help but smirk to herself though. Here she was, pretty much a corpse dressed up with a pretty bow on top, ready for the Capitol's pleasure. Did they treat her like she was about to die? No, no they expected her to be somehow grateful that she could at least eat some cakes before having her throat slit.

Like cakes would save her life.

They did look good, though. She'd taken note of that almost the second she'd boarded the train.

"You think a lot. It shows." Adrina looked away from the silver tray of food and into the eyes of her District partner. Ryon Blythe was a curious fellow. Adrina had only taken one glance at him and already she could tell she'd either hate him or respect him. Never like, but maybe she'd learn to accept him in some way. It'd be easier if she didn't have to detest his presence.

"I think about a lot of things. Maybe you should try that."

"Nah," he shook his head, leaning backwards into the soft cushions of his chair, kicking his feet up and crossing one over the other, "it won't do me any good, worrying. I've worried basically all my life, we're pretty much switched to a state of worry every goddamn day. Rather than worry, I think right now I'd prefer to just relax."

"You sure live a good life," Adrina smirked, rolling her eyes. She couldn't tell if he was a plain idiot or too idealistic for his own good. All Adrina could see when she looked into his hollow eyes, his sunken cheeks, was a boy who'd been through a lot. She hadn't had the best life either. Six took something from you the moment you were born and never gave it back.

He was nearly stick thin. She wasn't exactly the most nourished human being on the planet either. A thing they had in common, it seemed. Mutual poverty.

"So, Adrina Lear." Ryon stood up from his chair to slide into the seat opposite her own, crossing his hands on the table. "Denley told me I should ignore you."

"Azarih told me to do whatever I thought was best."

"What do you think is best?"

He seemed too curious for Adrina's liking. Either he got a kick out of making her squirm – in which case Adrina refused to give him the satisfaction of succumbing to whatever he wanted – or he was genuinely just trying to talk to her.

She couldn't pinpoint how she felt about that. Adrina wasn't above communicating with other people, but in this place, it seemed useless really. All she saw was a corpse waiting to happen, looking at Ryon. It might be a negative, pessimistic way of looking at his future, but for her own future to avoid such an outcome, it was the future he had to have.

Better to not grow fond of a living boy when dead was the result she knew she desired more. "I'm still working that out. Anyway, why are you talking to me if your mentor told you otherwise? Already being disobedient. Not that it surprises me."

"Oh really?" He leaned forwards, half a smirk and half a snarl on his lips. Adrina cursed herself silently for indulging him. Saying anything wasn't really helping the situation. He didn't have to worry, but Adrina did. She almost wanted to, as intolerable overthinking things happened to be. At least if her mind was preoccupied on things that mattered, she wasn't thinking about the other things.

Like her own death.

Like the suffering she'd have to go through, living or dead.

"You seem annoying, Ryon. Not the sort of tribute Denley probably wants. But hey, sometimes we get lumped with the wrong kinds of people."

He rolled his shoulders, slumping backwards against the cushion. "I feel the exact same way."

For a moment, she had an urge to slap him in the face. Not a very strong urge, but the urge was there nonetheless. Instead of growing physical, she simply laughed and fell back into her own cushion, nodding her head and letting her eyes fall on the misted window, rain still fighting for entry.

"District Six stands such a good shot this year. The potential is staggering."

"I like that you say what you feel. Or at least hint at it underneath whatever show you put on." Ryon tapped his fingers on the table, his eyes solely on the same spot on the window Adrina was focused on. "It's refreshing. So many people are afraid of doing the wrong thing, they never admit to themselves or others the truth."

"Lies are easier to deal with."

"If only," Ryon laughed to himself, slumping against the window and tracing his finger along the glass. "I'm terrified. Scared shitless, Adrina. I don't want to go the Capitol. I don't want to go in the Games. I don't want to even go back to Six. I hate being scared, but I am. Fuck. "

Adrina didn't like his cowardice. But at the same time, it was too real for her to call him out on. Other people, Adrina had only been rude to if she found them insufferable, if she found no merit to being in their company. She knew, right from the off, Ryon and her would not ally. They weren't even friends. But they weren't enemies either. And as self-pitying as he might be, she was the exact same.

She hated herself for being as scared as Ryon was admitting. She hated it. It wasn't who she had to be – she couldn't let it grow and fester and blossom into something that would corrupt the very drive she'd promised herself.

As morbid as her thought patterns were, as hard as it had been to nod along to what her mentor had said, the words he'd promised her, she still wanted to win. But she didn't want to go in the Games.

She didn't want to leave this train. The in-between was a haven. The destination was hell.

"I wouldn't tell anyone how you feel, Ryon. It's understandable, and I think for the sake of maybe being a nicer person, I'll admit to you I feel the exact same way." Adrina stood up from the booth, moving for the table filled with foods she didn't know the names of. "But we can't let people see us like this. They'll use it. Me and you both know Six isn't the only bad place. The other Districts- the other tributes. Just- just don't show them you're afraid. I know I won't. If I want to win, fear is better to bury. Better to forget."

With that hanging in the air between them, she plucked one of the cakes from the tray and ate it whole.

It wouldn't save her life, eating this cake. It was insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

She couldn't deny how good it tasted, though.

Right now, the little things mattered, like how much she enjoyed the food here.

For the time being, it had to be enough.

The little things made today a little bit easier. She had to focus on that, before the big things made everything a whole lot worse.

* * *

**Garner Verbeck, 16 years old;  
District Seven Male.**

* * *

This was probably the place where they expected him to cry.

Garner, however, couldn't. Not because he didn't feel anything about what had happened a mere few hours ago. Not because he wasn't upset to be leaving his life behind. It was none of that. He didn't cry because it was simply easier not to. Easier to continue on with a smile because smiles came more natural than tears.

Garner had always prided himself on appearing as strong and capable without arrogantly having to claim it out loud. Crying wouldn't make him feel any better. In fact, it would do the complete opposite.

Instead of focusing on his own emotions, knowing how annoying it would soon become, Garner looked back out front. His District partner, Eveny Audori, was sat with her hands tapping against the table. Like him, she seemed to be fighting against whatever utter sadness tried to pierce her exterior.

It was admirable. He respected it.

"So, Eveny, right?" He knew her name. He knew she knew that he knew her name. It was easier to open up conversation, though. Garner liked conversation. Another way to forget.

"Yep, that's me," she offered him a smile, brighter than she probably felt. "Garner Verbeck. I don't know you but I remember from the reaping."

He gave her the same smile, equally as friendly. The entire train cart was gently thrumming in time to the vibrations of their journey to the Capitol. Not that anything would ever distract him completely from what had happened and where he was going, but it was welcome nonetheless.

If he kept on talking to Eveny, it would help even more. "I think the next part of a normal conversation is supposed to be 'how are you'. I don't think that's appropriate now." Garner laughed, hoping Eveny would do the same. The fact that she did gave him satisfaction. He wasn't going to grow attached to this girl, no way would he let himself do that, but it was still appreciated.

In fact, he was pretty sure he'd have to fight more to actually connect with her than remain unconnected. Not because he didn't like her, not because he didn't want to like her, but because that was how his relationships always seemed to work. He hoped Eveny wouldn't see something in him that she herself attached to. It would only make things so much more difficult.

The Games were a challenge by mere definition, he didn't need something else layered on top.

"It's pretty out there," Eveny nodded with her head to the window.

It was definitely pretty. Beautiful even. Another distraction, sure, but it was like Garner couldn't quite let himself believe in what was outside because it was all a lie. True, the trees and lakes and animals did exist. But it was all there to make them feel safe. This train. The food.

Even Eveny, she was here to make him think that it was okay to maybe have a friend, when he knew he couldn't.

That was why he wouldn't. He hoped she thought the same. He hoped his mentor did too.

_Speaking of which- _"Do you know where our mentors are? I thought they're supposed to be here with us." Their Escort had vanished completely, like she'd washed her hands of the two of them the second the cameras had disappeared from view. Garner wouldn't lie and say he minded. She was more of a nuisance than anything, really.

"I don't know. Maybe they're-"

As if in answer to his question, the doors slowly opened and in walked Jina Kesey and the newest Victor: Harland Lowre. Both wore smiles, Jina's aging face still as bright and fun as ever, Harland's more reserved, but still endearing. They sat either side of the booth, Harland next to Garner who happily moved along to give him room, and the older woman with Eveny.

Both of them said hello to each other, so Garner did the same. It would do him a world of good to be polite and mannerly to the young man that could save his life. He might be nineteen, but he had a lot of influence.

Garner was good at that. He was good at securing ties where they mattered most. Cut the cords to relationships that were more of a burden; strengthen those that were beneficial. That was the kind of ally he needed. Not one he'd attach to, simply someone who could help him when he needed help.

"Eveny and Garner. District Seven's newest recruits."

Garner smiled. "We didn't exactly sign up for this show."

"It's just easier to look this way, right?" Eveny continued to smile like she couldn't do anything else. "I can promise you I'm not eager, but it's still good to push how I want to feel to the back of my head. Are you here to help us?"

"Help might be a bit far off from what you'll get out of her," Harland spoke up, nodding with a wicked grin to the woman sat across from him. "I promise you though, Garner. This might be my first year, but hey, beginner's luck exists right? Although you won't need luck. You look the part. I'm sure you'll fit the part."

"Eveny can fit the part too, can't you?" Jina acted like this was a competition. Garner knew it was, obviously. At the end of the day they couldn't both come back. Jina seemed to want to put distance between Eveny and Garner from the very start. Or maybe he was just looking too much into it – maybe it was just Jina's way to not let Harland or anyone around her get the best of her. He could certainly understand that.

In response to Jina's question, Eveny nodded eagerly. "I mean, I can try right? That's all we can do. Garner can try. I can try. We can both try to win and maybe that will be enough."

Harland nodded his head. Jina did too. Garner copied them, though he did note how Eveny's eyes hovered over him for a split second. What did she see? Garner was strangely curious to find out her perception of him. He respected Eveny for who she was and how she acted, but that was it. He could always act like the friend she might want because it was easier to be a positive person than negative.

It didn't mean anything though.

His intentions were always somewhere else, different to what she probably expected.

"People from our District can only really try," Harland started to say, looking between both Garner his tribute, and Eveny who effectively, if you thought about it, was the enemy. _Too soon for that, _Garner thought. Or was it? "We're not Careers, we don't train. We might look stronger than most, but sometimes we aren't. Really it's just the luck of the draw. Looking at you two, though, I feel like we might have hit the jackpot. Maybe Seven can get two Victors in a row? I really think we can, don't you two?"

Garner was first to respond. Of course he had to have faith in himself. If he didn't believe, then there was no point in trying. And if he didn't try, like Eveny said, then he had nothing. He had no hope of survival. "I think I can do it. If not, I'd like to believe Eveny could."

"Me too. If I can't win, I want Garner too. Seven can have another Victor."

Jina touched Harland's hand, smiling at him. "Allies or not? That's something we need to know. Something that will help us from the get-go."

Garner looked at Eveny. Eveny looked at Garner.

She might have a yes on the tip of her tongue, but she was polite enough to wait for Garner's response. He felt uncomfortable under their combined stares. He wanted to say no. He had to say no. Garner wasn't the type to be pressured into anything. He didn't let expectation control his life – he didn't let it stop him from doing what he thought was best.

Eveny was a good person.

Good people had a place in the Games, but that place didn't reach the end. He might want her to win if he didn't. But he'd stop at nothing to make sure she didn't win, because he wanted to win. He had to win. He'd known it from the start – Eveny wasn't the ally or him.

"No," Garner smiled sadly, "I think we should wait and see. Maybe later. Maybe if there's no one else."

He tried not to see the disappointment in Eveny's eyes.

It hurt too much.

It reminded him too much of what was to come.

The Games were only just getting started.

* * *

**Carson Perrett, 16 years old;  
District Eleven Male.**

* * *

Carson couldn't sleep.

Stretching his arms out, yawning quietly, he pressed the side button that opened his door and out he went, down the corridor and into the main compartment of the train.

He thought he was alone. He'd expected no one else to be awake. When his eyes fell on a dim light coming from a lamp, nearer to the back of the cart, he stopped in his path. Carson nearly turned to go back, not really in the mood to talk right now. Not with his mentor, as nice as he was. Or the Escort, as friendly as she might underneath all that exuberance.

A pair of eyes settled on him, looking up from the carpet where they'd been staring. It was Neimera.

He could deal with Neimera. In a way, he was actually happy to be able to have the chance. She'd been buried under the advice they'd received earlier, the whole day nothing but a bombardment to and fro of ways to win, ways to survive, and ways that they could die and had to avoid.

Carson smiled and walked closer to Neimera. She tensed up, moved a piece of curled blonde hair behind her ear, and offered him a shy little twitch of her lips. It was enough for Carson. She didn't say a word as he walked over towards her, nor did she say anything when he sat in the chair opposite to where she sat, only a few inches from her.

He'd never seen Neimera before, in Eleven. Not that he'd seen everyone of course, but there was something odd about her. Something he couldn't quite place. He wasn't sure whether or not he really wanted to get to know her, after all, as considerate as Carson wanted to be towards the quieter girl, she was another tribute. A girl, a human, a real person, but still a tribute.

Only one could come out. The thought made him sadder than he cared to admit. Internalizing it, keeping it buried deep, he extended a hand with a sheepish smile on his face. He felt the beginnings of awkwardness seeping into the atmosphere – he was determined to defeat it before it got in the way. He wasn't sure how Neimera saw him, but he knew how he saw her. She was just a normal girl. Quiet, maybe set in her ways. He liked that about her. He wanted to be friendly before he had to stop being a good person.

"We didn't get a chance to talk. Carson. Yeah that's me."

She looked at his hand, then up at his face. Maybe she was mistrustful of his intentions, something she had every right to be. Carson didn't plan on going into the Capitol with a head of dreams and wishes and hopes about who else would be there. But the fact that he wasn't about to let his guard down didn't mean he had to close himself off entirely.

He tried not to come across too eager when she finally clasped his hand in her own, gently shaking it up and down, before pulling back. "Neimera. Sorry. I-I should have said something earlier. It was just a bit much."

"It's fine," Carson didn't need her apology. She had nothing to apologise for. He had to admit it was a bit overwhelming. To go from being with his friend earlier, to being reaped, to then being told how not to die. Yeah. Any normal kid would feel a bit overwhelmed. "I wasn't really sure why I came out here. I wasn't expecting anybody. Guess this is just a bit hard to take in."

His smile faltered for a second, but Neimera seemed to pick up on it and do the smiling for him. There was something so innocent about her, something so gentle, that made it hard for Carson's usual way of thinking to get in the way of his perception of her. As much as he tried to care for others, logically he had to put himself first, realistically he'd always be selfish even if he hated to ever think of himself in that way.

Neimera seemed too peaceful to be the sort of person Carson saw anything bad in. He'd always come first, but something about Neimera was so different. Maybe that was why he'd never seen her before. She didn't want to be seen.

"I was thinking about what my step-mother said. She always told me that if I was ever reaped I shouldn't be sad, rather I should accept it and move on, knowing there was nothing I could do." Neimera's eyes fell from Carson's face, landing on the carpet once again. "It's hard for me not to be sad. How can I not feel like that knowing where this train is about to stop? I wish it hadn't happened. I wish I could just-"

Carson stopped her, placing a hand on her own. Like she'd smiled for him, he smiled when tears started to brighten up the blue in her eyes. "Maybe it'd do you a world of good to just let it all out. At the end of this train, where we're about to go, what people see makes a big difference. On this train, before all that nonsense, there'll be no one but me who sees it. I won't tell." He laughed, smiling even when the first tear slipped down her cheek and landed on the floor.

"I promised her I wouldn't cry."

"We promise a lot of things. Sometimes even the best people can't keep them all."

She nodded. Carson, ideally, with his head in the clouds for a single moment, wished more than anything that Neimera could be given another chance. He wanted to be back home more than anything, but Carson knew what to do. He knew that if he put his mind to it, if he kept his own wellbeing prioritized, that he had a good chance.

Neimera didn't give off the impression of a Victor waiting to be crowned. She was just a girl who'd made a promise not to cry, knowing that she could never keep it. It made Carson unbearably sad.

Carson felt calm about Neimera. Whether she'd want him as an ally or not, that remained to be seen. He wasn't sure if that was what he wanted, either, but they could still be friends despite their relationship going into the Capitol. A lot of the time, so much went on around Carson that it was hard to always keep a smile on his face, hard for him to try to be good because the world wasn't a good place.

Sitting with Neimera made everything fade away. He let the poor girl cry. As she let everything out, Carson watched the world drift by the window, trees a blur in the night sky. It would be over soon – whether he died, or he won the Games, things would change.

It could be a scary thing, not knowing the future. He didn't like it. He didn't like the lack of control over his own outcome. Good or bad, he was determined, listening to Neimera cry, that he'd try. Trying was all they could do.

Together, or apart, they'd try to make something of their time left.

That's all Carson wanted – to feel like he was doing something, rather than wasting away surrounded by nothing.

Neither the past, present, or future were ideal.

It didn't mean he wouldn't try to make the most of it.

He had to. It was either that or give up.

He didn't know how to do the latter.

It wasn't a part of who he was.

Giving up was impossible.

* * *

**That's the first Capitol chapter. Technically they're not in the Capitol yet, but I'll count it as one xD The chapter format is a little different here. I do three POVs now because even though overall I'll be writing the same amount, I can get chapters done faster if I don't have to do as much per individual one.**

**Anyway, I'll keep the poll open for the time being. Anyone who hasn't voted yet, even if you don't have a tribute, go ahead and let me know who your favourites are! It's great to see what people think.**

**If you've seen the note on my profile, these chapters I'll probably get through faster than the pre-Capitol stuff. Basically updates will happen whenever I reach a certain number of reviews. If they come in faster, the updates will be faster. It just depends, really.**

**Thanks for reading :D**


	10. Dollhouse

**Chapter Ten.**

* * *

**Chariot Preparation.**

* * *

**Dante Madsen, 18 years old;  
District Eight Male.**

* * *

The Capitol were trying to lull him into a false sense of security.

But boy, did Dante not mind one bit.

The stylist he'd been assigned after his bumbling, idiotic prep-team had left, was a pretty young woman. Not just pretty. Hot. Yeah, yeah she was definitely hot. Dante felt a bit weird, lying on a slab of cold metal, pretty much stark naked against the chill, having someone he was attracted to look him over like a prized hunk of meat.

_Please. Please, don't touch me. I might start to-_

"So, Dante Madsen." Her fingers lightly traced his kneecap, goose-bumps that weren't from the cold rising on his skin. _Dammit. _"You can sit up, throw this around yourself. The prep-team have cleaned you up good. It's surprising."

"Oh really?" Dante laughed, then cursed himself silently for sounding like a dopey little kid. Who cared about the prep-team? Really, if he thought about it, who cared about the stylist? Yeah, Dante couldn't deny that it was as if the Capitol were torturing him by assigning this lady to him, but she was still from the Capitol. A part of him wanted to channel some of the anger he'd felt recently back home into their encounter.

If she didn't have such beautiful eyes, maybe he'd be able to. If she didn't touch his leg once again, before he sat up, then maybe he'd say something. Instead he kept his eyes on her, repressing everything a boy his age would normally react with, and tried not to sound like too much of an idiot. Acting like some obsessive moron wouldn't do his reputation any good. Not that he had much of a reputation here.

In fact, the clean slate was a blessing he'd been more than happy to accept. It helped though, to act strong. Not that he wasn't strong. He'd just prefer it if his reactions and behaviour could warrant his own opinion of himself. Better to feel capable if you acted like you deserved such a title.

"They're not the smartest people I've been forced to work with. But, well, I can't fault them for-" She paused, her brow furrowing. Something about her looking angry made her face darken in a way that Dante liked staring at. He averted his eyes, looking down at the ground. "Damn. Guess you can never get a perfect prep-team."

"Something wrong?"

She went over to a tray on the side table, bringing back a pair of tweezers. "It's your eyebrows, dear. Caterpillars more like, taped to your head, they wriggle when you talk like they're trying to escape from your face. It's amusing."

Dante's fists clenched like it was a natural reflex. This was why he could think a woman was pretty, but apart from that, think nothing else of them. Dante didn't care so much about his bloody eyebrows. Apparently she did. Apparently his chances in the Games relied on whether or not his eyebrows looked like furry insects.

"This won't hurt a bit."

Dante didn't prep himself for any pain. He'd been through a lot a few minutes ago with his prep-team. He was too distracted to calm himself. So when the first hair was pulled from his brow, he yelped and slammed his fist against the side of the metal table.

"Do you mind?" Dante rubbed between his eyes, well aware his cheeks were heating up with embarrassment. "Don't say something won't hurt then make it fucking hurt."

"Temper, dear." She tapped him on the nose, tutting. "That won't do you any good."

"Yeah, well," Dante grumbled, crossing his thick arms round his chest. "I'll act how I want. Don't tell me what to do."

"Cute."

Dante kept his eyes focused on the ceiling, gritting his teeth as she continued to pluck the caterpillars. He bit his tongue once, the metallic tang of his own blood trickling down his throat for a second. He held back a groan, refusing to look any weaker than he'd accidentally come across as. _Way to mess up the clean slate, dude. _His friends would have made fun of him for this. If he had any friends. Recently, he'd had a couple, the rest of them turning on him because of-

No. No this was not the time at all. A clean slate meant a clean slate. No reminiscing. Dante didn't take himself for the reflective kind. Instead, he tried to smile at the lady, knowing ladies liked a guy that smiled. He leaned up on his elbows when she returned to the tray, putting down the tweezers with a satisfactory smile on her pale face.

"Done. Now, was that so hard?"

Dante forced himself to laugh. Better to act charming, that was something they also liked. Someone who didn't push them away. Sometimes he did that without meaning to, it just happened, but the pain had subsided so he felt in a better mood. "I heard from the others that you're the best of the best. Something tells me Eight has a good shot at impressing the crowd this year."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint." She hummed to herself, walking round the table, never letting her eyes fall on Dante. He continued to watch her every movement, the way she opened a closest that seemed to blend into the glass walls, the way she flicked through some of the clothes, and then stopped on a certain outfit in particular.

"You don't strike me as the sort to disappoint." When she turned to face him, Dante winked at her, a smirk working its way onto his face. "I'd feel better if the only thing protecting my modesty wasn't a paper sheet."

"Sometimes we don't get what we want, do we?"

_No, no we don't. _A small, faint sense of anger started to twist his gut again. He clenched his jaw when she turned her back. He didn't want to be here, even if the woman that had touched his leg was one of the best looking he'd ever seen. Eight didn't make them like they did in the Capitol. Still, she was nothing really. Like Eight had been nothing.

He had to look to the future rather than the past, rather than the present on some levels, and fight for that. A pretty face meant nothing. Dante meant everything. He had to, at least. That was why he had to have the best outfit – not because he was of the fashion obsessed mind, but because sponsors meant gifts and that meant survival.

Luckily for Dante, when the anger wasn't making a fool of who he was, he was good at making people like him. He was good at being the kind of friend someone wanted because he knew what to say and how to act around them.

He offered his stylist another smile when she sat down on the table next to him, throwing him a dressing robe. "We'll make you shine, dear. Dante Madsen, Victor of the Sixtieth Hunger Games."

"Has a nice ring to it."

She smiled, offering him her own wink. "You bet it does."

Now he only had to make it come true.

With a bit of hard work, with everything Dante was, who said it couldn't?

The Games needed a willing player.

Willing pretty much summed up everything there was to know about Dante. He'd do anything. Even play dress-up.

If survival meant he had to do all this, Dante would happily be their doll.

He'd do anything. He didn't care.

_Whatever it takes, sign me up._

* * *

**Scyla Dericen, 16 years old;  
District Ten Female.**

* * *

The first thing Scyla had noticed about her stylist were the rings and necklaces that adorned her entire figure. The kinds of prizes she was sure her friends back in Ten would have taken, whilst she defused suspicion.

That was old Scyla, though. _Well, not old Scyla. I'm still here. Always will be. _That Scyla was more pre-sent-to-a-death-match Scyla. They were the same girl, at heart. One had been determined to simply enjoy life, whatever it may be. The other, the one she was now, had to focus more on other kids her age killing her.

Not the kind of fun she'd ever really intended to have growing up.

"You smell funny," Scyla said, breaking the uneasy silence. Ever since she'd stepped into this room after she'd been plucked raw, there'd been some kind of tension she didn't like. Scyla didn't do awkward silences. They weren't who she was. They made her utterly uncomfortable. "Is that what's trendy in the Capitol? Essence of Sweat?"

Scyla giggled, meaning no harm. Of course the stylist, being from the Capitol, being a rather uptight person with no sense of humour, spun on the spot, dropping the clipboard she'd been hovering over with a clatter. Scyla swallowed, tugging at the collar that was wrapped tight round her neck. "Hey, hey, miss. No hard feelings. I didn't mean anything by it."

"You watch your mouth. That'll get you places you don't want to be."

Scyla laughed. "In case you missed the memo, I'm already in a place I don't want to be. But hey, we've got to make the most of a bad situation. How about we start with simple pleasantries. Like- um. Well. Like your name for instance? You know mine."

"Yes, unfortunately." Her stylist rolled her eyes, bending down to pick up the clipboard and get back to work. Scyla wasn't about to let her off the hook just yet. She'd practically been groped by this woman as she'd been turned left, right, forced to bend down for some bizarre reason, then shoved into a dress made from leather of all things.

She seriously doubted the fashion expertise of the Capitol. They were supposed to be well tuned into the ways of making someone seem all beautiful. Scyla looked like she was a whip away from a rather kinky experience.

The thought made her laugh. Another reaction of the human body her stylist didn't seem to enjoy.

"Oh brighten up. Here, how about if you tell me your name, I'll be quiet for two minutes."

"Two minutes is hardly a reasonable amount of time."

Scyla shrugged, a dopey smile on her face. "I'll be out of your hair in twenty. It's two or I'll keep on going." She didn't do things on other people's terms – that was partly why her father probably disliked her so much. She wasn't nastily disobedient. She was simply her own person. Scyla didn't understand the beauty of silence, it wasn't a blessing to her. It was more of a nuisance than anything else.

"Why is my name so important to you?"

"Usually I don't let someone touch me unless I know their name. Unfortunately, you had your hands between my legs before you shared that common courtesy. Now I feel rather used." Scyla pouted, running a hand through her hair with a wicked smirk. Another reason her parents didn't like her. She didn't care what she said. It was all words to her. Words were fun. Words were useful.

"That kind of attitude won't get you anywhere in this city, young lady."

"I'm not exactly going to be in this city for much longer, am I? Or did you forget again why I'm here?"

She frowned, cheeks going a cute shade of red. Scyla didn't want to upset the lady, it was all just fun to her. Why couldn't other people see it that way? Panem wasn't exactly a dreamland where everything merry and positive came true. Some people had to make up for that by acting like she did. Otherwise, it was pointless to continue.

Scyla welcomed the weird and the wonderful. In her mind, the weirder the better. The less you held back, the more Scyla wanted to be in your company. She hoped some of the other tributes were of a similar mind. Dominic wasn't. He was friendly, but he was also too easily insulted. Not the kind of guy Scyla knew would tolerate her presence – she wasn't offended, if anything she was backing away because she didn't want to hurt Dominic's feelings. He was a nice lad. She didn't want to hurt anyone.

_Yeah. Let's see how long that lasts._

"My name, since you seem so eager to know, is Phyllis. Not the most extravagant name I know, but-"

"-You don't have to be so self-conscious about a name. Who cares what people think, Phyl'-"

"-Phyllis-"

Scyla interrupted again. Leaning up, struggling in the tight leather dress she was in, she placed a hand on the taller lady's shoulder. "I find ignoring what people think of you is one way to ensure a happier life. Words can be useful, but words can also be useless. Phyllis is a very pretty name, in my opinion."

For a moment, it was like she didn't know what to say. Compliments were probably hard to come by from a tribute. Scyla could only imagine what some of the rowdier girls before her had done to this poor lady.

"Well," she nodded her head, cheeks going another shade of red, only this time down to a different kind of emotion. "Thank you. That's very kind of you to say so. If I might, Scyla is a wonderful name for a… wonderful girl."

"Admit it, you kinda like me."

She looked down at the clipboard again, forcing her eyes on words Scyla knew she'd already scanned a thousand times. It was cute, though. This was probably why Scyla persisted. Sometimes others needed a little push. Stubbornness for the sake of their wellbeing. Scyla's pride in her own attitude could be for the best, sometimes. It wasn't all doom and gloom.

With only a few minutes to go, Scyla could feel herself slowly growing nervous. Rather than let it become too much, though, she smothered it all down, as deep as she could, and continued to smile. It was only a tribute parade. All she had to do was look pretty in a dress made from a dead cow, wave, bat her eyelashes, and then that was it.

Tomorrow she could start making friends. She could see who these other tributes were. The guys and gals that would be trying to kill her; the guys and gals that she'd be trying to murder herself. All the negative thoughts wouldn't help, but Scyla had learnt to accept it as a part of existence. It would always be there, constant worry, constant dread. Rather than let it corrupt her, she used it to fuel the smile on her face, the words that parted her lips.

She could take life seriously when it was serious. And she could have fun when fun needed to be had.

This was one of those moments.

"I can't wait," Scyla laughed, clapping her hands together.

The show would start soon.

She'd give it her all. Not because it was what the Capitol wanted, Scyla did nothing for nobody. She did things for herself. This was something that would help her.

It could potentially save her life.

Whether or not she saw much of a chance in who she was, that didn't matter. As long as she had some hope, that was enough.

_Bring it on, _she thought, smiling. This would be child's play.

* * *

**Acacia Grey, 13 years old;  
District Twelve Female.**

* * *

Acacia looked at herself in the mirror.

"I have an older brother and a younger sister," she said brightly, her eyes widening when they focused on the girl staring back at her – her own reflection. _Wow._ She hadn't had any clue that it was possible to make someone so average look so… well, like what she was looking at. "Oh, and a dog called Buttons. He's one of my best friends."

Acacia handed the mirror back to her stylist. When the older woman smiled and placed it back on the tray, the girl from Twelve couldn't resist. Standing up, she threw her arms round the woman's shoulders and hugged her tight, the smile on her face larger than it probably should be. Acacia had felt an unbearable sadness since her name had been called – she could still feel it now, somewhere in her gut. But knowing that she actually had a chance now, on the Chariots at least, it helped to quell some of the sadness. It made her smile feel somewhat real. It made it easier to be happy.

"I think Twelve has a chance of standing out this year," she pulled away from the woman, only smiling more when she realised her stylist was doing the exact same thing, even going so far as to wipe a tear away from under her eyelash. "Thank you, honestly, thank you thank you. This is more than I could have asked for."

"It's the least I could do for such a pretty girl. When it's time, you knock their socks off. Show them that Twelve isn't to be ignored."

Right now, maybe. In the Games… _stop. _Acacia refused to let that get in the way. All Lucas seemed to talk about on the train wasn't the Capitol, wasn't this game of dress-up. No, all he seemed to go on and on and on about until Acacia couldn't take it any longer, was the Arena. The idea of how to survive, knowing full well for his own survival the girl that had listened to his every word, smiling through her sorrow, had to die for that to happen.

Well, _I'll show him. _She might be young, but that didn't mean she had to lie down and let it happen. If she could be made to be beautiful, maybe she could make herself into a fighter. Training came before the killing. She had a chance. She had, even if no one else probably believed she did.

"D'ya think I could- er," Acacia bit her lip, letting her eyes fall on the glass door. The Remake Centre was so big – much larger than any building she'd ever seen. If this was apparently one of the smaller skyscrapers, she couldn't imagine what the rest of the Capitol looked like. She wasn't allowed to explore outside this building. But maybe she could… "go outside. I mean- not far. I just want to get used to walking in these shoes." She gave her little black heels a click together and giggled.

Her stylist seemed fine with it. She was so happy she'd been given this lady, someone that actually defied the expectations she'd had when Haymitch had gone on and on about how they were mean, pampered ladies that wouldn't be happy to have to put up with a young girl from Twelve. Turned out he was wrong.

If he was wrong about that, he could be wrong about a lot of things.

"I don't see why not. Just make sure you're back here soon, we don't have long. If you wander off too far, I won't have any choice but to call the Peacekeepers to go find you." Her stylist pressed a button on the side table, automatically opening the door so Acacia didn't have to. Nodding her thanks, Acacia teetered left and right, trying to get used to these shoes. They hurt her feet, but she was more than up to the task.

As they tapped loudly against the floor, she used one hand to balance herself out, pulling herself along slowly. There were other glass boxes like the room she'd been ushered into, prepped for the Chariot. Her long black dress was quite heavy, dragging behind her, she was scared she might trip over it. Luckily, her size gave her some advantage others might not have. She weaved around the rooms, keeping one hand steady at all times, and found herself at a junction in the corridors.

_It's like a maze, _she mused, whistling to herself in astonishment. They could fit so many houses back in Twelve just in this single floor. A part of her wanted to be sad about that. How much they had, so little she did and everyone else back home. But that part was quashed by the curious girl inside – keen on adventures, however small, however insignificant they might seem from an outside eye.

Before she could get lost, Acacia met the eyes of another young girl. When she caught sight of Acacia, she almost stumbled backwards, turning to go. She gave her a small wave, instead, hoping whoever she was wouldn't run off.

"Hi. I'm Acacia. Did your stylist let you leave too? It's fun out here!"

She looked like she wasn't sure if she should speak or not. When Acacia continued to smile at her, taking a small step forwards, whoever she was seemed to think against disappearing and smiled back. "Neimera, from District Eleven. I couldn't stand being in that room. I don't think I'm allowed out but- well… well it's too late now." She laughed nervously.

Acacia liked her, automatically, here on the spot. She didn't know her. They'd said basically five or so words to one another. Something about the fact that she'd just left, even without asking, amused her. Maybe she had fight. Maybe she had her own kind of spirit. A different sort for such a shy girl.

"Mine said I could get used to these shoes. Yours look much easier." Acacia nodded down at the girl's feet. She was wearing sandals, a skirt made from vines was draped down her legs, the upper half covered her entire torso in a pretty little green material with fruity patterns stitched across. It was pretty. They were both pretty.

"Are you one of the younger tributes this year? I'm only thirteen. The youngest." Acacia nearly frowned at that. It was considered a weakness before they even got to know her. She hated that. How a number apparently dictated her chances. Well, it was just another thing she had to prove wrong. "I try not to let it bother me though. Age isn't everything."

"I'm fifteen," Neimera said, her smile seeming to grow more confident.

She was older than Acacia, but something about her seemed younger. Something innocently serene. They'd known each other a minute, but here in the Capitol, they didn't get months to get to know someone. They only got a few days. A couple of minutes was practically a week or two back home.

"Maybe when training starts we could spend it together? Get to know one another a little bit better." Acacia tried not to sound too eager, knowing it put some people off. It was hard not to though. The prospect of an ally at this stage, when she'd only just gotten dressed for the Chariots... something told her it didn't happen very often. She'd jump at the chance to have anybody to be with.

"I'd like that." Neimera nodded her head, then looked at the ground. "I haven't… I mean- I don't think me and my District partner will be allies. If it was just you I wouldn't mind, but-"

"Just me," Acacia smiled, stepping closer to the older, but in someways, younger girl. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

"Then I think I can at least try. I want to make something of my time here. Try new things. I'd like it if we could train together, Acacia."

The two girls giggled, disregarding time restraints for each other's company.

Something told Acacia she'd found a friend. They weren't ideal in the Games, a part of her knew that, but that didn't matter. A friend was a friend. She was a thirteen year old girl. She'd never had an enemy, not really.

She didn't plan to start making them whilst wearing this pretty dress, in these pretty shoes, in a place that seemed so safe. The Games were the complete opposite, but Neimera fit the aura of peace she had found in this building. For now, she could forget about that and be with this girl.

The future didn't matter right now.

Not if the present was easier to cope with.

Not if here and now, smiles were a possibility.

If smiles made sense.

* * *

**Yeah these are being written a lot faster than the earlier stuff. This is way more interesting, plus I feel like I know these tributes better so I can write POVs much more easily. **

**Regarding reviews, it's probably my fault because I'm now updating faster, I know not everyone can review right away. Life is annoying. Still, I'm only hearing from less than a third of the submitters at this early stage when there's still a lot more to come. I'd appreciate to hear from the others with tributes, it helps, honestly. Thanks to those that show continuous support :)**

**Poll results are on my profile, thanks to everyone who voted! Congratulations to Ivo for coming out on top!**

**Not all alliances can be made during training due to POV count, so some stuff has to be done in different places as you saw here.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**(This is for Sofia, to help you hope for a better world :) :D ;) :P :D :) :D XD :3)**


	11. Other Me

**Chapter Eleven.**

* * *

**Chariot Rides.**

* * *

**Belarius Orleans, 18 years old;  
District Two Male.**

* * *

He'd always been told to respect the opposite gender, to treat them with the same level of kindness that he'd expect back.

The problem was, Belarius had no idea what he'd done to piss Aurelie off. He didn't think she understood the concept of kindness.

Belarius kept his eyes on her own. They were cold dark blue pools of loathing. Whatever she'd been through, Belarius was scared to find out. Not that he wanted to find out. It'd be better he didn't know much about the walking ice-lady. In the future, lack of knowledge about who or what made her so human would be an advantage he didn't want to lose.

"Can I lend you a hand?" Belarius extended his arm to help Aurelie up into the Chariot. She was dragging a long, grey dress, a thin veil over her head like some stone, warrior bride. Aurelie glared at Belarius, shaking her head stubbornly. Anyone else might be put off immediately. Belarius sort of enjoyed the challenge. Even Aurelie, deep down, had to have some desire for fun. Before fun became impossible, of course. The Games weren't exactly a carnival ride.

"I can manage on my own. I have legs. I have hands. Step back." Her lack of manners was amusing. Belarius stumbled into the other side of the Chariot, Aurelie pretty much forcing him to the right as she struggled to board.

"You sure I can't help you?"

Another death stare. "Are you deaf as well as stupid?"

"Alright, alright. I get the message. No harm no foul."

Aurelie finally got herself into a respectable position. Belarius failed to ignore the fact that unlike him, she didn't hold onto the front rail that would give them support. Of course, the ice-queen did not require the help of something so insignificant as a lump of metal. No. They were below her. She didn't stoop to such a level. Holding bars were for weaklings.

Belarius laughed and looked over his shoulder. They had a while to go yet. By the lack of tributes in the nearby area, something told him they didn't have to get so cosy just yet. A perfect opportunity Belarius was more than happy to take advantage of.

"How about we go say hey to our future friends? It'd help if we start to build some bridges, y'know."

Aurelie didn't even look at him. She continued to stare forwards as she shook her head, again in that mule-headed way he'd come to associate with who she was. "We have tomorrow to start that. Besides, I don't intend on making friends. They're future allies. Future-"

"-enemies. Yeah, yeah. I get the picture. Let's not make friends with the dead kids. Alright, well you do you and continue staring at what I'm sure is a very fascinating closed door. I'm going to go and do what any smart Career should do and get to know his fellow killers."

_Killers. _Belarius tried to ignore what that word did to his stomach. He continued to smile, resolved to demonstrating to Aurelie at every turn that she didn't have to be such a hardened, humourless, soulless waste of space. She'd come around eventually. Hopefully. He really didn't want the struggle of an ally that made things difficult. Belarius lacked the patience and foresight for such a person.

Hopping down from the Chariot, dusting himself off, he walked round the other side of the horses and caught the attention of the pair from One. Luella and Prosper. He'd made sure to remember their names.

When they saw him wave them over, Luella practically flung herself over Prosper to get to the ground first, forgetting she had her own way off the Chariot. Prosper laughed to himself, patted his outfit down, and followed his rather enthusiastic District partner towards Belarius.

"Hi hi, I'm Luella!"

"I know," Belarius smiled, extending a hand. She was awfully excited. A small part of Belarius hoped she at least knew what she was doing. Aurelie might be a stubborn young lady, but he knew more than anything that she was capable. She was here for a reason. "I'm Belarius. District Two. Over there's my beautiful District partner Aurelie. Say hi!"

She could hear him, he knew that. When she pretended like she couldn't, Luella's smirk only grew more and more. Prosper and Belarius went through the same process of introductions, shaking hands, and quite obviously trying to get through to Aurelie from her position above them.

_She must like that, _Belarius thought. Above us, away from the peasants we truly are. _When did I become so bitter? _He knew the answer, of course he did. Best he stayed away from that side of himself.

"Could you do me a quick favour and go get the pair from Four over here to join us? It'd be really helpful if we could start before training begins, get to know one another a bit." Belarius smiled at Luella, who as he'd predicted, was more than eager to obey whatever he had to say. It was cute. Like a little pet. Of course she was a human, as human as he was, but still, it was endearing in that sort of way.

"I wish I had a District partner like yours, Prosper. At least she understands she has the capability of language."

Prosper laughed heartily. Again, a lot like Luella. _Do they drink different water over in One? _Belarius laughed to himself, patting Prosper on the shoulder with a grin as Ivo and Darina finally joined them.

Luella skipped back to Prosper's side. In a ring at last, Belarius could feel how the Careers would work together this year. Friends was a real possibility. They'd all trained, of course. All volunteered to kill. As difficult it might be in the future, the present seemed easier.

Aurelie was the wild card. Where she fit in, Belarius was too scared to really consider.

"I'm Belarius. This is Prosper. And as I'm sure she already mentioned, this is Luella. We're starting the party a little earlier than planned."

Darina smiled, extending a hand gracefully. She had a more refined friendliness, a little more withheld kindness than Luella and Prosper. She was much more like someone Belarius could see himself being with. She wouldn't do his head in. "Darina Pallone. I think that's a great idea. Lay the foundation for the next few days. Weeks, maybe."

Belarius nodded at her. He couldn't agree more. His eyes fell on Ivo, who was smiling like everyone else seemed to be doing, but held back a little from jumping in. He bit his lip when Belarius' eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, I'm Ivo. Pleased to meet you all."

"Shy? That's fine."

Ivo laughed, shaking his head, letting his shoulders relax. "No, no. Not shy. I guess this is just a bit more than I expected. Aren't the Careers usually supposed to hate each other?"

"I think that's what they want you to think back home. So you don't let your guard down. They don't train idiots who make friends."

"Well, we can make the most of it, until that time comes," Darina said. Belarius watched her eyes fall on his own Chariot, Aurelie standing there, still as a statue. If she learned the art of movement, it might open herself up to a whole new perspective on the world. Legs had a purpose. Almost as much as her tongue did.

"Is she not joining us?"

Belarius chuckled. "I'm sure we'll thaw her out of that icy exterior she's got herself hidden in. Tomorrow, we'll get through to her."

"Hey, I could try," Luella jumped at the opportunity, waving her hand.

"Me too. Everyone needs a friend." Prosper wrapped an arm round Luella's shoulders, pulling her closer to his side, the pair laughing.

_They're so cute. _Belarius let his eyes fall on Darina. District One wouldn't get through to her. If anything, they'd make the situation worse. Ivo seemed like he knew what he was doing, he was just a little bit more in-the-background. The kind of guy that did things when they were necessary.

Aurelie would swat him away without even blinking.

"I'll go speak to her," Darina smiled, moving for their Chariot.

"How hard can it be?" Belarius looked at Ivo, offering him a wink. The boy from Four laughed, moving closer to join the circle they'd made.

Belarius knew it would be a lot harder than he cared to imagine.

Right now, however, things didn't need to be turned into some major drama. He was dressed up, ready to look pretty, and with the Careers already forming a connection, he tried not to worry so much.

Prosper. Luella. Aurelie. Darina. Ivo.

Most fit together, one of them a potential catalyst.

He'd grow to recognise them as people he'd be close to, but also people that had to die. Right now, they were simply people. Not tributes. Nothing but fellow teenagers he wanted to get to know.

This was the part he was most excited for.

A place for him to shine.

He almost felt at home.

* * *

**Cillian Garnier, 17 years old;  
District Three Male.**

* * *

The Careers finally disbanded at the sound of a whistle, ringing above their heads.

Rell nudged Cillian in the ribs, frowning at the pair from Four as they walked past their chariot, side by side. "Doesn't it piss you off to see them acting so casual about all this?"

"Well, to be fair, they weren't really forced here. I guess casual makes sense if you volunteer."

"Still," Rell's frown quickly turned into an amused smile, "I guess it doesn't matter. These Chariot rides are a farce anyway. Especially the way we look."

Cillian couldn't agree more. He hadn't vocalised his disapproval, neither to the stylist that had shoved him in this wiry mess, or to Rell who seemed to share his distaste. Cillian didn't really want to let himself poke at things that didn't matter. The outfits made a big impression, sure, but so did his actions. As long as he played the part, maybe that was enough. Hopefully the Capitol could overlook their atrocious get-up.

He turned to face the front, straightening his back with one hand on a rail, another poised to wave. Whatever the whistle meant, a minute to go or five, he was prepared to make sure they didn't get the jump on him. The more prepared he was to work hard for the sponsor money, the better it would be for his future.

"Aren't you a little nervous?" Cillian laughed, feeling anxiety tugging at his confidence. "It's a bit different to anything I've experienced."

Rell didn't respond. He turned to look at her, wondering what she was doing. Rell's eyes were focused entirely on the pair from Two, a third of the Career pack she seemed to hate so much. Cillian tried not to judge them – yes, it might be wrong what they did. But like he'd had his way of life, they had their own. He wasn't about to place a label on them simply because of what a handful might have down when they were in their shoes.

This year, they seemed different anyway.

"Earth to Rell?" He clicked his fingers, smiling. "It'd probably be a good idea to focus on real life." He nudged her like she'd already done to him plenty of times. Rell blinked her eyes, shaking her head with a nervous giggle, swiping strands of bright, flaming hair from her face.

"Haven't you noticed? It's funny, the way the girl from Two already seems to despise him. What do you think he did?"

Cillian paused to look at what she'd been staring at. Rell was right in the sense they seemed tense. The girl cold and brusque, the boy charmingly trying to gain her attention. It wasn't working.

"Maybe they have history."

Rell laughed. "Or there's trouble in paradise. Maybe we can use that."

_We? _Cillian's main focus became centred on that word. She'd said _we. _Cillian wasn't quite ready to commit himself just yet before he'd met any of the other tributes. Rell was a nice girl, really nice in fact, but she was a little… much. At times, though. Not always. Cillian felt guilty all of a sudden. Maybe they would work. He'd give it thought, later, when things weren't a little jumbled up at the moment.

"How could we use it?"

"Well, not we as in just us, I mean the others that weren't trained. If the Careers fight each other, it'd really help wouldn't it? It's not like we're going to take them out." Rell pointed at the girl in particular. "She could tear the alliance apart before any of us are forced to."

Cillian was impressed. He hummed his understanding, nodding his head. Rell was a mess of emotion, but she seemed intuitive despite not coming across that way on a first impression. Maybe they'd work out after all. Tonight, he'd think it over.

If there was one thing Cillian didn't plan on doing, it was jumping into something he hadn't thought through. Impulsivity could get him killed. Rell could be brazen. Cillian preferred being laid back but attentive at the same time.

There was another whistle, this time louder. Cillian's spine went rigid, bolting upright against the back of the Chariot. Surely it made sense to be this nervous? Rell and him were from Three, after all. They were teenagers who hadn't exactly been paraded around in front of millions before. Cillian laughed nervously once again, holding onto the rail tighter.

"Things will be fine," he nodded, saying the words to himself as well as Rell. He wanted her to feel just as comfortable as he wanted for himself. The better she seemed, the easier it was to feel like his words were actually coming true. "I'm sure they'll love us."

"We're not in the prime spot, between the Careers. But hey, it's about character, and I think we've got heaps of it." She pinched his cheek with a laugh, shimmying her shoulders so some of the tighter wires fell loose down her chest.

Cillian had friends like Rell. Friends that might make others nervous, others uncomfortable, but made him feel more inclined to open up. He'd never been a shy person, more reserved in a refined way that reflected his upbringing. He'd learn to work hard and play the part that he had to act. Right now, his mentor had made him promise to try his hardest.

Cillian had agreed. His words played over and over in his head, so much that it made it almost too difficult to let loose. At the end of the day, though, it mattered that he followed instruction and did what had to be done. For his sake. _For our sake, if there is an our. _

He felt Rell's fingers intertwine with his own. For a second, Cillian almost pulled back. Not because he didn't like the gesture, but because his mind was focusing so much on what was happening, he wasn't ready for anything else. Quickly, though, he eased into it easily and squeezed her hand back.

The front door was slowly opening. Light filtered through, growing more and more intense by the second. What had sounded like a dull, muted cheering was seemingly becoming louder and louder as the gap widened. Cillian swallowed a lump in his throat, looking at Rell who seemed almost overeager to get out there and show them what she was made of.

He needed to feel the same way. He couldn't always think so much, he had to let loose and go with whatever felt right. Hand in hand with Rell, this was what felt right. Being with someone that he could feel comfortable with. Someone that seemed just as eager to make a name for their District.

"We've got this," Cillian whispered, quietly. Rell might have heard him, she might not have. She didn't need telling. He trusted her. He didn't need to think Rell, or anyone for that matter, in this moment, were the kinds of people he had to think ill of.

They were all kids now, before the Games.

Cillian readied a winning smile, held back the nerves, and prepared himself.

_Let the show begin, _he thought, looking once more at Rell. They had this in the bag. Three had their chance.

Three had two willing competitors.

Two tributes that would do their home District proud.

* * *

**Varity Sparks, 15 years old;  
District Five Female.**

* * *

Varity had been told this would be fun.

She was still waiting for that side to show itself.

_This is more tiring than fun, _Varity thought with a weary sigh, hand on the rail, the other waving limply side to side. She'd planned to make an effort the moment she'd collected her thoughts after the reaping. Get the Capitol to like who she was, find the right alliance, and go from there. It was all rather logical, all rather well constructed. Now she was here, it was harder to live up to.

Varity continued to at least put on something for these eager airheads. The crowd threw down roses and blew kisses and cheered much louder than Varity thought her presence warranted. She was nothing special, not in a Hunger Games sense anyway. Maybe back in Five she'd had the potential. Here it would be harder.

Maybe that was why it was difficult to wave with proper energy. She was bitter about the fact she'd been chosen. Bitter that she hadn't had control over the situation – that was what she hated the most. Not knowing. The unknown Varity had no sense of. She couldn't plan for something she hadn't expected.

"Pointless."

Varity almost jumped at the sound of Marshall's whisper. She looked at him out the corner of her eye. On the train, he'd looked disgusting. Not that Varity cared so much for appearances, materialism, superficiality, none of that mattered much. Still, at least he'd been cleaned up and shoved in something respectful.

It made dealing with him a little bit easier.

"What is?" The two kept on focusing on front, giving no one any sign that they were talking. The Capitol could probably pick up on it if they chose too, but why would they? Five wasn't the most exciting District. They rarely had anything to offer. Was this year the exception?

_I'm still trying to work that one out._

"They praise our appearances, how clean we can look, how pretty or handsome we are. Then the second we're in the Games, the dirtier we get, the more blood we have splattered over our faces, coating our hands. Well, that's what they really want." Marshall laughed, blowing a kiss out to one rather adoring lady they rolled past. "They can't make up their minds. Do they want us to look good, or look like savages?"

_Hm, _Varity had taken him for a dense, talkative idiot just like everyone else. Perhaps there was more to him than she'd originally thought. Or maybe that was what he wanted her to think. There was something about his unkempt appearance originally that told Varity there were secrets he'd keep from anyone. Secrets he didn't want people knowing.

If there was a game behind all this, Varity would be the last person to fall for it. "Interesting way of perceiving this situation. Can't say I agree."

"Oh really?"

_No, of course I agree. But you think that is how I think, you want me to be on your side. _Varity knew he wanted to get into her good books. For what purpose, that was something she still needed to work out. "Really."

"Well call me stumped, I thought you'd be the first person to share my frame of mind."

"We're not all predictable, Marshall." Varity held on tighter, frowning when they came to a bumpy halt in front of the President, offering his speech. "Don't jump to conclusions."

"Noted." He turned to face the front with a smirk on his face. Varity decided he didn't deserve her respect. There was something too sinister about him. Something too fake. At least Varity was up front with how she felt about people. They didn't need to work out that she didn't want to pay them much attention, simply because she just didn't.

The Chariots finally did one more loop of the crowd, the more enthusiastic tributes soaking up the cheers, and then they came to a final stop near the Tribute Centre. It was tall, a lot taller than anything Varity had seen before in her life. She stumbled out from the Chariot, eyes stuck on the roof, taking two steps forward when she heard a loud groan break her from her thoughts.

She'd expected Marshall. Instead of the sleazebag, the boy from Eight was smiling at her. For a second, Varity almost ran. Then she realised how bad that would look. How cowardly. She wasn't scared. She simply didn't have the time right now. Whoever he was, he didn't matter.

But she stayed. Waiting.

"You looked impressive out there," he said, offering her a grin Varity immediately labelled as far too trying. Far too eager to impress. Still, she nodded her head, offering thanks, and stood with her arms crossed round her chest.

"Did you need something?"

He laughed, looking at the ground, then back up into her eyes. "I'm Dante, by the way. Just in case you didn't already know."

"I did."

Dante laughed again. Varity didn't know what was so funny about being prepared, about spending some time getting to know who her fellow competitors were. Knowing their names didn't mean she'd get attached, it just made it easier to discern between future worries and future early deaths. Simple, really.

"I guess that's smart. You're Varity, I remember that at least."

"Yeah. That's me." Varity's face might have scared off anyone else. Whilst he smiled, she did nothing. A complete, blank canvas of no expression or emotion. She couldn't fault him for his persistence, at least. He didn't seem to waver in whatever it was he wanted. "District Five. A wonderful place."

"I bet," he laughed again, looking over her shoulder. "Hey, if you'd rather I left, just tell me and I'll go. I see your mentors are waiting for you."

"They can wait a bit longer."

He raised an eyebrow, his smile only growing wider. "So, you don't mind me wasting your time?"

"That depends on what you want."

Varity caught sight of a few tributes looking their way, only to be ushered off by their own mentors. She knew Marshall was probably gone already, not one to really stay around. Or maybe he was hidden in some shadow, watching their encounter, trying to understand what was happening. That was something Varity quite enjoyed, the idea that he didn't know. That she had the control.

He had his secrets, she had her own.

Two could play at that game.

"I want someone that doesn't seem to buy too much into losing themselves, losing who they are at heart, but still has the right way of thinking to know that at least dong something for the Capitol will give them an advantage." He kept his eyes firmly locked on her own. "That's you. You didn't gush over their praise, you weren't fake, but you still held your ground and at least showed you were willing to play. That's what I'm looking for. Why I'm here. I'm looking for someone willing. Someone who understands themselves, and this world we've been forced into."

"You speak eloquently." Varity smirked, the first real display of anything since he'd approached her. "I see what you're asking me."

Was it what she wanted? She knew she needed some alliance. Varity was a confident, prideful girl. She didn't fall for flattery, more she enjoyed it when someone was intelligent enough to understand her motivations. The reasons behind her actions. Dante seemed tuned into it. He seemed to know her, and in someways, Varity knew him.

He had charm. He had a personality that would help boost her chances.

He was what she was looking for.

"So, are you in?"

Varity looked down at his hand, then back up into his eyes. He didn't scream fake like Marshall. What did she have to lose?

_My life._

She took his hand, shook it up and down, and smiled properly. "I'm in."

Deal made.

She had her alliance.

* * *

**Tribute interactions are fun. More to come soon!**

**If anyone's been following my stories for a while, you'll know I tend not to focus on the actual Chariot rides much. I know this is the part where they happen, but I want the Capitol chapters to focus more on the tributes themselves than what they're wearing. Tributes takes priority over clothes ;o**

**Thanks for reading. Up next, training starts!**


	12. Changing

**Chapter Twelve.**

* * *

**Training Day One.**

* * *

**Luella Aslett, 18 years old;  
District One Female.**

* * *

Luella felt a strange mix of nerves and excitement, walking into the underground training facility.

Prosper was by her side. At least she had him, a companion, a friend. He was almost like her in many ways. Luella looked at him and offered a small smile, happy to be with him. The nerves were getting to her. Nerves she didn't want to let become anything else.

"All their eyes are going to be on us, Prosper." Luella wasn't afraid of the spotlight. In fact, she practically threw herself into the arms of attention at any possible moment. Still, she wanted to look and be regarded as important. _I mean, that's why I'm here right? What the Careers are. The important ones. _"Do I look okay?"

Prosper laughed as Luella flipped her ponytail over her left shoulder, then her right, then back to her left like she couldn't decide. "You look beautiful, Luella."

Her cheeks went bright red, her grin only growing wider. "Aw, you look beautiful too." She pinched his cheek and giggled, linking her arm in his as they made their way into the centre of the room. Everyone was gathered in a circle, or at least the early-comers. District One was supposed to make an impression. That impression would suffer if they were late.

Belarius gave them both a cheery wave, something Luella and Prosper quickly mirrored back at him. Darina and Ivo were a few feet behind them, Darina placing a hand on Luella's shoulder and greeting her, Ivo nodding at the pair and joining Belarius' side.

As more and more tributes flooded the room, Luella's eyes drifted over all their sad, happy, excited, fearful and worried faces. They had to die for her to win. That was why she'd volunteered, after all. She wanted to win. Luella had a friend in Prosper. She had a friend in all her allies, she didn't doubt that for a second. _Except Aurelie, but that's alright, she's just a tough nut to crack. _She was sure she was a great person underneath it all.

But that didn't stop Luella nervously chewing her bottom lip, thinking about how they all had to die, each and every one of them for her to make it back home alive. She was ready to win. Ready to survive. But ready to kill? Ready to watch people die?

That had never been a part of Luella.

She'd known it was always there, always an integral part of what the Games were, but she'd clung to the aftermath, rather than the journey. Luella focused on the good. Not the bad.

"Doing alright?" She jumped up at the sound of a voice. Prosper had left her side as the Head Trainer waved them all away to begin their three days of prepping for the Games. Luella grinned up at Belarius, nodding her head.

"Fine thank you. This is all really wonderful, sometimes it gets a bit overwhelming."

"I know what you mean," Belarius whistled as his eyes scanned the room they'd been ushered into. Station to station, weapon to weapon. "We train back home, we have our academies, but this is something else. On a much larger scale, and now that we're here, well… well it definitely lives up to expectation, don't you think?"

"Definitely!"

Luella watched the other tributes begin their training, eager to not only watch them get started, but also to get to grips with everything she already knew. Luella had trained, of course. Not much, but she still had. The darker thoughts of killing and what she had to do left her mind quickly. That was something she liked about herself. Focus was a hard thing to come by when it came to all that clouded negativity. She enjoyed the happy stuff. The friends, the laughs, the thrills. Everything else.

"Well, my advice is to go and build bridges with our allies. Get to know them all. I feel like me and you are going to get along just fine, and you and Prosper are obviously really close. How about District Four-"

"Aurelie!" Luella's voice went a bit louder than she'd intended. But the answer was so clear. Where she'd start training. She didn't need to train in weapons, she needed to help Aurelie out of her shell. That was something else she'd been good at back home. Helping people. Making them more confident in themselves.

"I don't know Luella, she's a bit-"

"I'll be fine," Luella turned on the spot, waving a goodbye to Belarius. "I'll convince her. Darina seemed to get through to her a little bit yesterday, maybe I can finish the job."

She didn't hear whatever he had left to say. Prosper looked at her as she walked past, occupied with Ivo and Darina. Luella would get to know those two later today, build those bridges Belarius had insisted were the most important thing. The Games would be so much easier with friends. They all seemed like such good people. The kinds of people she'd be close to back home.

_And they have to die for you to get there._

Luella shook her head and finished her path across the room, landing right in front of Aurelie. She was holding two swords, going to town on a rack of dummies, tethered to a railing, slit open with red stuffing pouring from the tears. Beads of sweat rolled down the bridge of her nose, and with a huff, she lowered her arms and turned to face Luella.

If looks could kill, she was sure she'd be dead. But no matter, angry didn't put off Luella, it only made her more persistent to change all that.

"I thought we could train together," Luella said, a smile as always plastered from ear to ear, superglued to her jaw the way it had always been. "Get to know one another."

She smirked, rolling a shoulder back. _Is that meant to scare me? _"I think I know enough. Is District One finally accepting the fact they're just like the rest of Panem? Weak."

"Um-"

"Or do they just hate you so much that any hope for victory can wait another year just so they can get rid of you and that pet of yours?"

"He's not a pet."

She raised an eyebrow. "No? Or maybe you're his little dog. I don't care. Either way, I hate to break it to you, neither of you are cut out for where we're headed. I told Belarius I don't plan on making friends. And even if I did, you're the last person I'd want to be acquainted with." Aurelie turned to face the dummies again. "Do us all a favour and really look at where you are. This is a sword, Luella. Not a lollipop. A rattle. A ribbon. It hurts. That's where we are."

"I know where we are," Luella said, frowning, arms crossed tight round her chest. She wasn't about to let Aurelie get to her. And she was not about to give up. Aurelie was just trying too hard to be recognised as the real threat of these Games. You didn't win by pushing people away. "I'm just trying to make the most of this all."

"Please leave," Aurelie slashed the throat of another dummy, offering one last glare over her shoulder. "Before I make you."

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she'd get through to her. And if not then, the next day, and the next, and the next. Luella turned to go, offering a goodbye to the poor, bitter girl. She found Prosper and the two from Four and joined them, Belarius soon walking over with another wave and soon enough, the five of them were training side by side.

Aurelie looked over a few minutes later, in the distance, and shook her head.

Luella wasn't about to let their ring of friends suffer because of one misunderstood, or misinformed Career. She'd known people like Aurelie. She'd seen people like Aurelie.

Whatever she gained from this, it wouldn't last. It wasn't important.

"I tried to tell you," Belarius whispered in her ear, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Patience, that's what she needs," Luella smiled, linking her arm with Prosper's. "Patience and someone who can be her friend. We need to show her she can trust us."

"I don't think she ever will. Aurelie doesn't do trust."

Luella shook her head. "Everyone can change."

Luella knew, deep in her gut, that to win, she'd have to do the very thing she expected of Aurelie.

Change.

But that part was somewhere far away from who she really was. A part she might not ever find. Might not ever use.

All she cared about was this group, her allies, her friends.

They were what mattered the most.

She'd do anything for them.

Absolutely anything.

* * *

**Kira Vinstra, 18 years old;  
District Eight Female.**

* * *

Kira was glad Dante had found another ally.

She'd had the worst feeling that he was going to ask her to accompany him in the Arena. She felt bad thinking that way, but Kira didn't like Dante. She really didn't. If she had to list the reasons why, she was sure she could come up with plenty. He was angry when his mood became foul. And when he wasn't threatening someone, or snapping at someone, or being his mopey self, he tried to make people forget he was really just an immature boy by 'wooing' them. She'd yet to see him woo her.

But apparently he'd wooed someone else.

She could have him. Kira was happier to be without her District partner.

As she held the knife in her hand, trying to work out how she felt specifically, all she could pinpoint was the fact that Dante's alliance had made her think of making one of her own. The two from District Three were by each other's side, minute by minute, practically glued hip to hip. If Kira wanted to make something of herself in the Arena and have the chance she so craved, solitude might not be the best way to accomplish such a thing.

The trouble was who to trust. Kira only wanted what was best for the people that showed her genuine kindness, but these were strangers. If she made promises to them, in the Arena setting, they might expect something she couldn't give them. It was better to be hesitant, that was the smartest role to play. In the long run, stepping back might be the best way to ensure she survived. As grouchy as she felt being forced to be in such a place, Kira couldn't be that person forever.

Longing found its way into her heart at the worst times. The fact that she now wanted an ally only proved that.

She turned around with her knife by her hip, scouting out the nearby area. The stations were close together, weapon after weapon, knife to arrow to sword to spear. It was all there. The tools that sent a chill down Kira's spine. Then there were the survival stations, how to work with nature, how to build a fire and create shelter and everything else she was sure she needed to know.

The problem was Kira's motivation. As much as she wanted to find an ally, she didn't want to set out on her own and risk putting her neck on the line. What if they said no? Kira didn't do so well with rejection. She said whatever someone wanted to hear because she didn't want to hear that one word uttered. A no would ruin everything.

Instead, Kira sighed and turned back to the dummy, weakly extending her arm to slash at its stomach. If it was a person, as morbid a thought as it was, guts would probably spill out. Another shiver went down her spine and Kira sighed again, dropping the knife with a clatter and falling down to the ground, bringing her knees up to her chest.

She wasn't sure entirely what she wanted. An ally or to be alone. Winning would be nice, but it also came with such a big cost she wasn't sure what she'd have to do to pay it. Killing, definitely. But some of the other things that went on… she was scared, to put it simply. Scared of everything that would be in her future.

With her thoughts rapidly going from the present to her future, the sound of footsteps slowly cut through and Kira snapped from her mind, blinking rapidly to look up at the nearby figure. It was the boy from Seven, Garner Verbeck, who offered her a hand with a smile on his face.

As down in the dumps as she might have felt, Kira immediately smiled back, latching onto his hand and thanking him as he helped her onto her feet. She felt embarrassed. The last thing she wanted was for someone to perceive her as weak, or that she was happy to give up. That wasn't what Kira wanted. All she wanted was time to go through her options.

Maybe he was an option. But first, the main question. "Can I help you?"

He offered her another smile, his eyes falling on the knife at her feet. "Having trouble?"

_Great, he saw that. _"No, no. I was just thinking of moving on. Haven't got much time so it's probably best I cram in as much as I can, even if I don't quite perfect a station, at least I'll have covered it."

"Smart," he nodded his head, his grey eyes staring into her own. There was something charming about him. Something that Kira was drawn to because it was how she liked to come across as well. In her own mind, not everything made sense. But when put into a social situation, she opened up more, she didn't give out as much as she took in, but she still played the part. She was what Garner probably wanted.

"You can tag-a-long if you want. Unless you came here for a reason." She knew there was a reason. Everyone had a reason behind everything they did. Kira made promises because she wanted people to like her. Kira acted in a way that didn't match how she felt because she refused to be perceived as someone that could be stepped over.

Even if Garner seemed friendly, even if she knew she couldn't just walk away after he'd started to speak to her, he wasn't an exception to that.

"I came over here to say hi. Seems a bit random, but we haven't got long to really spend our time worrying over who is here, what they're like, what they're thinking. Best to start the introductions and spend time afterwards getting to know what you've gotten yourself into."

Kira smiled. "Is that the smartest way to think?"

Garner was a stranger. He was some random kid who'd had the misfortune to be reaped and forced here, but still a stranger. It wasn't paranoid to question his motivations. If anything, it was the intelligent thing to do. But something about what he had to say was true. Time was precious now they were here. She didn't want to spend so much time thinking when she could just act.

"This doesn't have to mean anything, you can walk away at any time. But we could train together, if you like? Get to know one another, lay the foundations for what could maybe, if it works here, be something that grows in the Arena."

"You make it sound like you're asking me out." Kira giggled, looking at the ground. Her cheeks went a shade of red, but that didn't matter. She did like him. And she did genuinely enjoy being in people's company. Sometimes she just oversold it. Sometimes she worried a little too much. The exact thing Garner had said they would do here, worrying when maybe worrying wasn't the best state of mind to have as the clock ticked down.

"Something like that." He bent down to pick up the knife she was holding, handing it back to her. "We could start with this. Toughen up and go from there."

"What made you choose me to want to train with?"

He looked over his shoulder in the direction of something, maybe someone. Or maybe nothing at all. Kira's eyes fell on Dante for a single second, talking to his ally, their team developing into something fruitful. Kira wanted that.

She needed that.

"I guess I can tell where I should be." He took his own knife from a rack, turning to face the dummy. "Something told me I should come over here. That's all."

It was enough for Kira.

Maybe she wasn't the most excitable girl on the inside, but on the outside, she knew that she longed for an ally and knew that she could give Garner everything that would help their alliance grow. Garner was the right guy for her, she was hopefully the right girl for him.

They only had a few days to be sure, but what she didn't want to do was spend those three days worrying over everything when the real threat would soon be a part of her life. She had a week at most. A week before she had to forget everything and simply act for her own survival.

An alliance helped that, at the end of the day.

Alliances got people places.

This would get her far. She had a good feeling.

What more did she have to go on than that?

Gut instinct was all she had.

* * *

**Vallah Marchant, 17 years old;  
District Nine Female.**

* * *

Vallah was not the kind of girl to wait around.

She didn't wait for an opportunity to come and smack her in the face, patiently biding her time. She was the sort of girl that made things happen for herself. She created what she wanted. The opportunity to make her time here mean something.

He was tying rope. Vallah couldn't really see the benefit in knowing how to make a knot at the end of something, but she was intrigued nonetheless. She had no idea what was going on, but what she did know, was that he knew something she didn't. Something that maybe was actually important. Something that could save her life.

There was a boy with no one around him, Vallah was the girl who wanted an ally. It made sense, she didn't have to think it through.

Throwing herself to the ground, crossing her legs with a smile and a wave in the trainer's direction, she looked at rope-boy. He met her eyes with a hesitant smile on his face. _Well, he seems friendly enough._ She took a coil in her own hands and started to make twists and loops and her own knots, having no idea what she was doing. It was tedious work, but Vallah wasn't the kind to ask for help either. Not initially. Not unless it was offered and she could pretend that she knew what she was doing all along.

"Vallah, since you asked. Vallah Marchant. District Nine."

He looked just as cautious. Vallah didn't blame him, of course he had every right to be a little bit hesitant to get to know a strange girl who had decided to randomly introduce herself. But that was where the fun existed. The fact that these were all strangers, that she didn't know people, that she had no idea who they were, what they liked, what they didn't, the stories they had to tell. Vallah was good at making friends. Maybe he was too. Perhaps rope was simply more important.

"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude. I just can't get this one right," he tapped a finger against a book page, frowning. "If I get it right, apparently it's one step towards creating this sort of net that you can catch things with. No idea what I can catch but it's good to know."

"I bet," Vallah said, smiling. All Vallah really knew about traps was the fact they had to be avoided. If he knew more about nets and how to catch things, then it was just another incentive as to why he might be the ally for her. Plus, he hadn't told her to go away. Big help in the friend department.

"Oh sorry," he wiped his hand on his leg, shaking his head. "I'm Carson Perrett. District Eleven. Sorry, I'm just a bit focused, my head's not in the right place."

"If it's on your shoulders, it's in the right place." Vallah grinned at her joke, only smiling more when he laughed gently, discarding the rope completely. The fact he'd passed over his best buddy to speak to her sealed the deal. He was the ally for her. She didn't let these kinds of moments slip through her fingers. Vallah was very much the sort to grab the bull by its horns and not let the fucker get away. Carson was the bull. Not that was he was a fucker. She rather liked him.

"Maybe if you teach me how to make nets and knots and whips and whatever you can make with these things, I can show you how to hold a sickle. I mean I'm sure you know how to hold one," Vallah grinned, shaking her head, "with your fingers, of course. I just mean it'd help to work together, and I think I could help you with your technique."

Where there had been a cautious, vigilant boy a second ago, Vallah realised she was opening him up. He already seemed like the nice kind of guy, but the kind of person that watched where he stepped, kept an eye over his shoulder, made conversation for the sake of conversation, but friends were a hard thing to come by. She respected that. He was smart.

Vallah wasn't blinded by her ability to socialise. At the end of the day, she was here to win. Here to pull the flush and watch them all swirl away into the toilet of death. Apparently, anyway. That's what her grandfather had hinted towards at least. The joke was there, but the truth behind it made a big impact on her resolve. Carson was another tribute, nothing changed that. But this was the place where they made allies.

Vallah could work on her own, she was sure of it. But why make that choice when she could make this one? Allies made sense. For the time being, this was what was best.

Carson extended a hand, over the bits of rope, looking down at his fingers then up into Vallah's eyes. "I think I'd like that. I know a bit here and there, but combined knowledge goes a long way, doesn't it? We can work together, maybe find another ally."

Vallah took his hand, shaking it firmly in her own. "Sounds like a plan!"

She was excited. Not excited for the Games, but excited to be with Carson and the prospect of what they could achieve together. She knew he was fully aware of where they were headed. She was just as prepared for what had to come, knowing full well what had to happen for her to win. But that united them even more. The fact that they knew this and could still be allies, maybe friends, made all the difference.

This was the kind of experience Vallah wanted. To put meaning into her last few days, if her journey didn't go to plan. If she didn't win, she wanted what was left to mean something. She wanted not to waste her time being someone she wasn't. Vallah was the girl who walked life in her own way. This was her way. Her path.

Together, she stood up with Carson, discarding the rope for later, knowing weapon training had to come first. She'd secured an ally, that was item one on her list. Now, she had someone she could help in exchange for guidance. She didn't usually ask for help, but this was different. This was a way to cement her alliance and help it grow.

Carson wasn't the only one. She had ideas, she knew around here somewhere, someone else would fit her vision of making her time worth it. A group that knew the truth, but could still continue on as themselves. That was what she wanted.

"I feel like we should come up with a group name," Vallah said, mainly out loud, even if she'd been thinking of the idea. Carson looked at her as they both picked up a sickle, turning it in his hands with a smile.

"I guess we could."

Vallah nodded. "Maybe. I'll give it some thought."

Perhaps it didn't matter. She was creating something that had to end. Groups didn't last.

But that wasn't all she cared about. The end-game was victory, something she wanted. But the journey of actually getting to exist as Vallah, not anyone else. That was what she wanted to be remembered as.

Not Vallah Marchant, girl that fell apart.

Vallah Marchant, the girl that was always Vallah Marchant.

That was her goal.

To be herself.

* * *

**Alliances are starting to come together, they'll be updated on the blog with each chapter that comes.**

**Something about this chapter I wasn't pleased with, but eh, hopefully you all enjoyed it. That's what matters most. Thanks for reading!**


	13. Yours

**Chapter Thirteen.**

* * *

**Training Day Two.**

* * *

**Rell Arlington, 16 years old;  
District Three Female.**

* * *

Rell didn't like the way he looked at her.

Cillian didn't seem to notice that someone else's eyes were on the pair of them. He didn't seem to think of anything but the knife in his hand as he cut pieces of rope, making loops around certain branches, constructing something.

Rell's mind had been going a mile a minute since they'd sat down. She wasn't really the kind of person that was patient enough for Cillian to build something. But it made him happy, so it made her happy. She wanted what was best for her ally, like she knew he wanted what she wanted as well.

This other boy was a problem. Rell tried to bite down on her tongue, knowing words would not benefit her now, action would only be disadvantageous and drawing attention a nuisance, but Rell couldn't help it.

Her eyebrows furrowed angrily in his direction. His lips only quirked up in a satisfactory smirk. Rell really didn't like him. She placed a hand on Cillian's shoulder and pecked him on the top of his head with her lips, ruffling his hair playfully.

"Be back in a sec'."

"Um," he looked at the boy across the room and shook his head. "Please, Rell. Let him stare. He's nothing to us, what harm is he doing?"

"If we don't look out for ourselves, people will think we're weak."

"Does it matter?"

_He has a point. _Rell knew deep down she cared more about the act of saying something than what she actually had to say. These training days were nothing like her escort had made them out to be. They weren't exciting days filled to the brim with new adventures and opportunities. Rell was content with the one ally she'd already made before this. Together, they were making something of themselves.

All Rell wanted to do was get out of here, find a room to chill out in, and be a teenager. Rather than a girl learning how to rub sticks together and build huts out of leaves and rope. For Cillian, though, she'd do it.

But she wouldn't sit here forever, twiddling her thumbs.

She patted him on the head once again and let her smile fall, frown back on her face as she moved for the boy across the room. When he noticed her walking closer and closer, he crossed his arms round his chest and raised an eyebrow, a similar smirk since they'd caught eyes on his arrogant, smug, dishevelled face.

"Do you have a problem? What are you doing?" Rell raised her voice without caring who heard. If she'd lived worrying what people thought of her, what life would she have led? _Not a very good one. _Public opinion had become nothing for a long, long time.

"Admiring the view."

Rell's lips curled in disgust. "That's creepy. If you need something, ask away. If you don't, move along."

"Do you own this place?" He leaned forward, obviously amused. "Is this Rell Arlington's special spot? Can I not stand here?"

"No, this is not Rell Arlington's special spot." She stepped forwards, rising on the heels of her feet and pointing a finger in her direction. "But this is Rell Arlington's special face, and she does not want your special eyes looking at it. Please move along."

"You're awfully bold. Matches your hair."

She'd taken comparisons like that as compliments before. That depended on the person though. This was not a person she wanted to accept praise from. "Are you going to leave us alone?"

"Sure, sure. I'm Marshall, in case you were wondering. I was checking out the competition. And future liaisons. Can't say with your display and the current state of our relationship you're the one for me. Plus your friend over there seems a tad too soft." He sighed, moving away from the station. "See you in the Arena, Rell Arlington."

"Yeah," she grumbled under her breath, moving back in Cillian's direction. "Can't wait."

The second she returned to Cillian, Rell's entire demeanour changed, like a switch being flicked. For a split second, she was her happy, carefree self, falling down and crossing her legs, clapping him on the leg with a chirpy smile. Then she saw who else was with them and her grin slipped from her face, a worried frown replacing it.

Not that Rell disliked company. On the contrary, she'd embraced everyone and everything. Marshall had unnerved her. She wasn't expecting anyone.

As quick as she'd let a frown appear, however, she replaced it with her usual expression, extending a hand and then looking at Cillian. The newcomer took it and shook with a giggle, letting her hand fall from her grasp and back to her side.

"I'm Eveny Audori. I was interested in what Cillian was doing and thought I'd join in. He seems to know what he's doing."

"He's also here with us, right now." Rell realised it came out a little harsher than intended. She didn't like the idea of him being talked down to, whether accidentally or not. Eveny shook her head and laughed nervously.

"No, no, I didn't mean to act like he wasn't. Sorry- I. Well. Okay, let me start again. Before we got here, my District partner made it perfectly clear he wasn't going to be my ally. And then I saw you two, from the same District, with a bond that I really thought was possible with someone from home, and I-"

"Got jealous?" Rell laughed, raising an eyebrow.

"Not quite," Eveny laughed. "I realised that what you two have is something I had with my friends. And whilst we're still living, breathing teenagers, I want to inject a sense of normalcy into what has been a rollercoaster of a ride so far. It'll only get worse, but I want to try to make it feel as natural as I can. You two seem that way to me."

Not many people saw Rell for the mind she had. She didn't blame them, half the time her head was in the clouds. But Rell, like she'd seen on the Chariots with the pair from Two and their fractured relationship, could tell the sorts of people she'd want to be around, and those that were best to stay away from.

Eveny didn't seem that way. Maybe it was naivety speaking, or maybe some kind of intuition. Cillian looked between the two, happy with the situation, so why shouldn't she be? Rell wasn't the kind to lament and wallow in self-questioning and doubt all the time. That wasn't her style.

She gave the girl from District Seven a nod and another well-timed, cheerful laugh. "If you see us that way, I'm more than happy to see you the same way too. We'd love for you to join us."

"A new ally is exactly what we need." Cillian shook her hand with determination in his eyes, a deep rooted kindness underneath his refined, respectful air. Rell didn't quite understand everything there was to learn about her District partner, but what she did know, she liked tremendously.

For now, that was enough.

Eveny was also enough.

Rell only wanted to make something of her time here with the people she cared for. She wasn't one to worry or fret or overthink. She'd had the best of friends in Three, known as a shoulder to cry on or the one girl to make you laugh through the harshest of times.

They were basically headed down the epitome of a harsh road. Maybe it would be possible, for some time, to act like this was normal. Rell would never let her guard down, determined to do whatever it took, but that didn't have to change their alliance.

Their friendship.

Balance was possible. Cillian and Eveny. They seemed the kind to understand where they were headed.

For now, what more could she ask for?

Rell relaxed, a dazed, content smile on her face. As her mind drifted off, thoughts and feelings from back home buzzing through her head, she let herself welcome the fleeting peace.

It was up to her to determine how long she could remain with a sense of calm in her life. A day or week. What she was willing to do with her alliance would build their future.

Or destroy it.

Rell had never been a responsible girl, but she was willing to become that for her new friends.

Anything she had to do, she'd do it.

Without question, for the good of the team, Rell was prepared for any and every obstacle thrown their way.

Rell was ready.

* * *

**Ivo Koehn, 17 years old;  
District Four Male.**

* * *

Ivo was content to be the overlooked Career.

He wasn't looking for attention. He wasn't looking for praise, or applause, or to even come across as intimidating to those that were forced here against their will. He simply wanted to act the way he always had done.

Ivo tried not to see this situation and his allies as anything more than what they really were. He had a group of willing fighters, and he was in a place where there were unwilling children going up against those that had trained.

He felt bad. But he wasn't stupid. This was the way the world worked. Rather than fight against it, rather than voice his opinion or take a stand, he continued training with his head down and a small, pleased smile on his face whenever he got something right.

Being a Career, luckily that happened often.

So far he'd gotten to know everyone except for Aurelie. Luella had tried to get through to her. Belarius obviously had, most of his actions either being a smile to brighten the mood between the others, or an irritated shake of the head whenever his eyes fell on his District partner. Then there was Darina, who was just as friendly, if not a bit of a perfectionist in the regard to stand out. That wasn't Ivo, but he didn't put her down for that. She could do as she pleased, he wasn't about to tell her not to be herself.

Prosper was similar to Luella, if not with a dash of Belarius. Charming, friendly, maybe too enthusiastic. But again, Ivo was content to stand by and smile when he cracked a joke, and direct his attention to the conversation when his name was called. That was Ivo. As they trained on the second day, he kept his head down and worked hard, more than happy to offer his allies whatever help they wanted, or whatever social input was needed to keep the bridges sustained.

Aurelie was the anomaly. But maybe she would come around. Ivo didn't know. Right now, he didn't care. She must have had her reasons for being the way she was – Ivo wasn't about to judge her for distancing herself from a group that had to die for her to win. He understood.

At the end of the day, they really did have to die.

It was hard to visualize, but he'd committed himself to that. The thought didn't mean he had to be rude, or unkind, or socially distant as well. He simply understood. But he wouldn't change because the people around him were going to die for him to win. Being someone he wasn't would get him nowhere.

His eyes fell from Luella and Prosper, giggling as usual, talking loudly and brightly without a care in the world. When Darina offered him a curt nod and friendly wave from opposite the room, he did the same back and readied the spear in his hand, leaning backwards and pivoting around with his hips to put forward momentum into his throw.

As long as he felt like he was doing something to prepare himself, despite years of training, Ivo's mind was in the right place. He didn't overthink things. He didn't doubt, or regret, or anything but remain focused. That was key to winning. Focusing on the things that were important. Background noise had to remain in the shadows, avoided and forgotten.

When he heard a set of footsteps moving for him, Ivo looked over his shoulder and picked up another spear, turning to face Belarius and offering him a quiet but friendly greeting. Belarius was almost as chipper as the pair from One, but reserved in the right places like Darina. He was a good balance. A good leader. Ivo was content listening to Belarius. He knew what he was doing, that was all Ivo cared about. An ally that could carry their own weight and get things done for the good of the group.

"Things are going well," Belarius said, picking up his own spear and testing the weight. "Apart from Aurelie, I really see our alliance going places in the Arena. Together. That's not something that usually happens."

Ivo nodded, smiling. "Difference can be good. Healthy, even. The fact we get along will do our chances a favour." He didn't say more than that. Whether he had an opinion on his allies, or their dynamic, that didn't matter. It was irrelevant. Progress was what was important and as long as things seemed to be running smoothly, there was no need for Ivo to open his mouth and say things that weren't going to help the situation.

He had no second thoughts. No hesitation. Ivo was happy. Really happy. If he could channel it like the pair from One did into their outward behaviour, maybe things would run even better than they were. But that wasn't something he was prepared to do. He was happy in his own way. The others seemed to respect him for that, for being himself. There was no need to change or bring up something that didn't need bringing up.

"You're good with a spear." Belarius threw his own, the point meeting the inner ring. With a laugh, he picked up another one. "Seems I am too."

"Is a spear not your preferred weapon?"

Belarius shrugged his shoulders. "Why come here if you aren't trained in more than one weapon? I just prefer other things. I can still throw a spear with the best of them."

"That's good," Ivo nodded, throwing his own and hitting the bulls-eye. "It's important we can handle ourselves."

"Oh we will, that's why we're here. Chosen because we know how to do our thing."

Belarius didn't throw the spear in his hand. Instead, Ivo watched his eyes once again move over his allies, then landing on Aurelie. He sighed, then tried to hide it and smother it under another laugh. Ivo was good at picking up how people felt. Belarius couldn't try to cover it up even if he tried his hardest. He wasn't about to ask a question, though. Not if it wasn't something Belarius wanted brought up.

He put the spear back, however, and placed a hand on Ivo's shoulder with a sad smile on his face. Maybe he did want to say something about it. In which case, Ivo would do whatever he could. Within reason. "I just can't help thinking about what's to come."

"The Games?"

Belarius looked at Aurelie again, shaking his head and looking right into Ivo's eyes. He was trying so hard. It was admirable. Ivo preferred to stay away from the spotlight. Belarius didn't mind that responsibility. He respected him for that.

"The bloodbath. The beginning. When some of these poor kids are killed by our hand and we have to make a choice."

"A choice?"

"A choice that will determine the future of our alliance. We all know Aurelie won't be content to stick with us for much longer. In the Games, she'll make a decision and that decision could cost us our lives if we aren't careful."

Ivo knew what he was talking about, but some idealistic, naïve part inside his head couldn't help but hope of a better outcome, a different way of seeing the future to Belarius. Maybe Aurelie was hard to be with, but that didn't make her the sort to backstab.

He didn't want to judge her because he didn't know her. How could he assume anything when he had no idea who she really was, what she'd been through, and what she thought of herself?

But if Belarius cared enough to bring it up, Ivo would hear him out. If it was important to Belarius, it was important to the group, meaning it was important to him.

"Aurelie isn't the only one who will make a choice. Who needs to make a decision that will determine what we become in the Arena." Belarius looked at Ivo and placed another hand on his shoulder, squeezing it like he was hurting. Like something was happening and Ivo didn't understand completely. "District One doesn't deserve this. They volunteered for something, but they didn't volunteer for Aurelie. Even Darina, she's trying with her. She really is. Me and you… if me and you need to make a decision about-"

"About what?"

Belarius opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head. Ivo wanted to know more but he didn't pry. When Belarius laughed and shrugged his shoulders, he continued to watch his friend and ally pick up the spear and throw it, clapping when it hit the centre again.

"Don't worry." He waved the thought away, turning to go. "You'll know what I'm talking about soon enough. Me and you will need to make a decision. When we have to, I just hope we make the right choice."

With that, Ivo was left alone.

There was so much Ivo still wanted to say, so much he needed to know. But rather than press and push for something that might not ever be revealed, he kept his head down and continued preparing himself for the future.

Rather than wallowing in the unknown, making sure he was capable enough could help construct everything he'd volunteered for. Now, that was the most important thing.

Clearing his head, Ivo focused on the task at hand.

Nothing else had to matter right now.

Distraction was too heavy a price to pay.

For the time being, things were working.

He didn't need to worry.

* * *

**Lucas Roux, 16 years old;  
District Twelve Male.**

* * *

Lucas kept to himself.

On the first day, he'd gone from survival station to survival station, building shelters out of sticks and leaves, sorting through what to eat and what not to, and the various ways to make fires and traps and nets and everything else. He was proud of himself. Twelve was an awful place, but the part Lucas had lived in didn't really require him to know whether a particular red berry was dangerous or not.

He'd learned fast. He knew what he was doing, hopefully more so than a lot of the other tributes around him. Some of them had struggled, the ones he'd sat next to as they frowned and grunted and whined over their poor performances.

To Lucas, he had every right to smirk behind his hand and laugh under his breath. He wasn't downright trying to be a jerk, but these were his competitors. The more he saw them messing up, the easier it was for him to focus more on how what he was doing really could probably help him come the future. He was still focusing more on the bad outcomes, knowing that it would help more if he took everything into account than blindingly remaining optimistic of a happy future. But still, mess-ups were valuable.

They gave him the necessary confident boosts.

He wasn't unconfident, but he couldn't deny how good he felt seeing people get things wrong when he got them right. Training was going well. Independently, he was shining.

But something nagged at the back of Lucas' mind. Groups were coming together, individual tributes becoming a part of pairings and trios. It was important he didn't get behind on that as well, before it was too late. From his position next to a panel, tapping away at lit up sections on a touchpad, trying to score the highest on a survival test, his eyes gazed over a small group to the left of him, talking cheerfully together.

District Three and the girl from Seven. It wouldn't do if he thought so much about how he was becoming better than everyone, that he forgot the necessity of back-up. At the end of the day, survival was at the forefront of his mind. But that didn't mean he'd sacrifice himself just because he wasn't keen on the idea of a friend.

First, he had to find someone that wasn't the sort to mess-up all the time, but wasn't the sort to get everything right as well. If they were on his level, they'd be a problem in the future. If they were so far under, they were practically useless.

Lucas kept a logical mind-set at the centre of everything and tapped finish, nodding with a smirk at the score that flashed up: _100%, _and he walked towards another station. As his eyes scanned across the various weapons being held by those that were trying to perfect something that they'd never get down in a matter of days, Lucas felt a knot in his stomach that wasn't welcome.

One of these swords could kill him. He might be intelligent, but in terms of physical fitness, he was probably on the same level as the others that hadn't trained. Maybe even lower than some with a natural talent.

He tried to keep his anxiety down, not willing to be perceived as weak from anyone that might look at him as he passed by. Lucas strode past station after station, avoiding the Careers purposely, knowing how it might come across if he got too close, and continued to keep an eye out for someone.

When he saw a lone girl practicing with a knife, a frown on her face as she slit open the fabric, he made his way across the training hall and back to a pile of berries that were already incorrectly put together. _Some people have no idea what they're doing. _All the better for him, really. If it was mean, he was prepared to be mean.

Nice people didn't win the Games.

He continued to watch the girl train. Rather than casually stroll up, plant his feet on the ground with a wide smile and throw himself at her before knowing anything about who she was, he would wait and see. Some of these people allied for the sake of normalcy, so they could have a friend. Lucas didn't do friends so that wasn't for him.

Either his ally would benefit him, or he wouldn't have an ally.

But this girl seemed like she knew what she was doing. She had no one with her so either she was a loner like Lucas in someways, or thought along the same lines as he did. Maybe she was waiting. Lucas stood up and made his way to an adjacent station, making sure he didn't look her way in case she saw. Picking up a sword, he went to work on a dummy. For the first time, feeling the steel in his hand and the fabric tear with such ease made his heart beat faster. But so he could appear confident and prepared, he continued on. He felt her eyes land on him, the telling feeling on the back of his neck whenever she glanced his way. Sticking to who he was, he didn't concede and meet her gaze.

When she'd trained enough, he continued to hack away at the sword, keeping one arm by his hip. He had no idea who she was, but she was the right person. Not a friend. An ally. She knew what she was doing, and the fact she hadn't jumped at him, smiling, waving, batting her eyelashes like a little fool, told him all he needed to know.

As the girl passed, he sliced at the dummy's throat and grabbed her arm, not looking at her as he made another cut. She tensed up but didn't pull away.

_She was hoping I'd something, _Lucas thought, smiling where she couldn't see. _This is how you get the right ally. You wait. _

"I won't ask a second time. If you think it's the right thing, give me an answer. If you don't, walk away."

He kept his fingers locked round her wrist, still not looking her way. He heard her laugh gently, then with a tap on his shoulder, she pulled away and extended the very same hand he'd had a grip round.

"Adrina Lear, you're Lucas Roux. I don't do what the others are doing. I'm not here to be your friend, but I can tell you think along the same lines as me." Lucas wasn't about to grab her hand. Instead, she did it for him, meeting his fingers and shaking it up and down. "Follow me or don't. We don't need to get to know each other, but I'll be your ally. I'll have your back for as long as I feel like helping you serves me just as much as it serves you."

"Done." Lucas had nothing else to say.

When Adrina walked away, he didn't follow her. Instead, with the sword in his hand, he went back to work on the dummy. He'd practiced enough on the other side of the hall, this time he had to learn how to handle the very weapons that might kill him. No part of Lucas thought he'd get anywhere, like the other tributes who couldn't do it, he wouldn't learn enough to save his life in the short time they had.

But Lucas didn't give up either. He'd patiently waited for the right ally. Now he had her, he'd do what had to be done, even if it would get nowhere in the end.

At least feeling like he was working to better himself, to make it far, gave him a sense of confidence that he'd always cherished.

One step after another, this might or might not go the way he wanted it to go.

The unknown worried him, but he accepted it for what it was.

If he couldn't change the situation, he'd adapt to fit whatever was thrown his way.

He cut the dummy's arm off, kicking it away, and moved onto the next. He wasn't the best at this, but being better than someone was enough right now. As long as there were people weaker than him, he had an advantage.

As long as he had an advantage, he had a chance.

Chances were all Lucas needed to keep going.

They gave him all he needed to make a stand.

* * *

**And that's the second day of training complete!**

**Only four more chapters to go before the Games, they're getting closer and closer. As always, the blog will be updated with any alliances that came together this chapter.**

**Until next time!**


	14. Unfair Game

**Chapter Fourteen.**

* * *

**Training Day Three.**

* * *

**Aurelie Bauden, 18 years old;  
District Two Female.**

* * *

She couldn't stand the way they were all acting.

Aurelie hadn't set out to be difficult. She hadn't volunteered to cause her alliance stress, or worry, or to divide them all up before the Games had even started. She'd never planned on exactly _liking _her fellow allies, either. That's all they had been in her mind, before and after meeting them. They were her allies.

Her attitude had never been the kind to pull people in. She didn't care. Why should she hate herself for being perhaps the only Career this year to actually see the ways things really had to work? She had every right to be angry, and distant, and a little bit rude to those that stepped up to her. They had to die for her to win. They were going to die. By her hand, maybe. Probably even by a non-career, with the way they were acting this time round.

_Am I the only one who really prepared? _She smirked to herself, shedding her outer exterior of anger for a relaxed, but prepared angle. She continued to hack away at the dummies she'd been near for the whole three days. She'd practically perfected holding a sword before coming here, but she'd rather the repetition of decapitating a dummy than the repetition of envisioning doing the same to her feeble-minded, deluded allies.

She wouldn't say she hated them. She didn't pity them, either. More than anything, she was let down. Aurelie had never relied on anyone but herself through life, but a competent pack would have been welcome. Or maybe she should be glad they were weak. They'd be easier to take down. The challenge of the Games would be almost non-existent.

Whatever the case, Aurelie kept her head forward, swords raised, and continued to deal as much damage as she could to the inanimate objects, before they became animate in a few days' time.

As she focused on her training, she heard a distant conversation getting closer and closer. Aurelie started to pick up on their childishly cheerful voices, chattering away about nonsense. She groaned and rolled her eyes. It wasn't Luella, thankfully. Or her delusional counterpart in the form of Prosper. And thank fuck it wasn't Belarius either. He knew how to push her buttons more than she cared to admit.

No, when she looked at who it was that had stepped up to the station she was at, she recognised two of the outer District girls.

_Cannon fodder. _She didn't delight in the thought, more she'd accepted it years ago and it left no feeling inside of her whatsoever. The two girls didn't even seem to note her presence. They were so small Aurelie was sure she could easily snap them in half.

She had half a mind to let them get on with their training. But that might make her look unthreatening. Not that she particularly cared what people thought of her, but it was good to maintain this image. Plus their incessant yapping was hurting her ears. Like the countless girls back home that stepped in her way, only to regret it.

Aurelie coughed. Not too loud, but not quiet enough it didn't go unheard. The result was rather amusing. Their puppy-dog eyes widened when they fell on her towering form, leering over them. Aurelie felt a prickle of guilt, only for her to wipe that away under years and years of hardening.

"Are you looking for an early bloodbath?" Aurelie tilted her head, not playfully, more so that they could see the way her eyes darkened and lips curled into a snarl. Their faces went ghost white. If they were any younger, they might have peed themselves. "I'll give you to the count of three."

"But-" The girl from Twelve, Aurelie recognised by the number on her outfit, opened her mouth to say something.

Aurelie cut her off instantly with a: "One."

Her ally, or friend, or whatever she was, tapped her on the shoulder and pulled her sleeve, walking to go. "Come on, Acacia."

"Two."

Aurelie watched them run along on their little legs, away from sight and back to wherever they went to delude themselves they had a chance. They were a statistic. Girls like them were nothing more than a number to add to a chart that counted down the deaths in the way of her survival.

What did they matter?

_Nothing, _Aurelie gritted her teeth, feeling a strange, unwelcome anger coursing back through her veins. _They mean fuck all to me._

Another set of footsteps distracted her and she almost, unable to contain herself until the last second, swung her sword to meet the neck of whatever fuckwit had decided to annoy her again.

When she recognised Darina, she took a deep breath and rolled her eyes, going back to the dummies. She wasn't as focused, anymore. Not with Darina breathing down her neck. There was something different about her. She wasn't half as in the clouds as the pair from One. She didn't try to poke fun at her and bring out a side that was non-existent like Belarius did. And she didn't cling to the shadows like Ivo, smiling when being spoken to, but practically falling in on himself like some unconfident weakling.

Darina tried to be kind to Aurelie. She appreciated it in an unspoken, unrecognizable way. She didn't poke or prod at her, she didn't try too hard. Maybe Darina just wanted the best for the group. In that case, maybe the best was to leave. Aurelie's pride got the best of her in that regard. No matter who they were, the Careers still had a reputation to uphold. She couldn't just walk away. Not right away, at least.

She'd give it time. Then… well, then. _It's fair game. I'll do whatever I have to do._

"Were they annoying you?" Darina asked, in as friendly a manner as she could.

Aurelie shrugged her shoulders. "Everyone in this place seems to annoy me."

"Do I?" She laughed casually, stepping closer to Aurelie.

"I haven't decided yet. That's something, at least. Get too close and you might start to go down in my eyes." Aurelie didn't want her thinking she liked her anyway. She didn't, of course. But she didn't hate her attitude unlike everyone else. "You're all allies to me. Means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less."

"That is the most intelligent way to perceive the situation, I think." Darina smiled, picking up a sword. "I feel like our alliance is stronger in that we get along well. But at the same time, I think I understand why you've been over here all the time. Only one can win, after all."

_Someone who knows the truth. _Aurelie nearly smiled. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders again and slit the throat of another dummy. "Don't pretend that you understand me. You don't know anything about me."

Darina's face paled. "I wasn't-"

"Look, you aren't half as bad as the rest, I'll give you that. But you aren't my friend. You mean nothing to me."

Aurelie half expected Darina to bleat like a sheep, turn away and run with her tail between her legs. Instead, when Darina's face went from pale to a shade of red, stepping up to Aurelie, she couldn't quite contain the surprise at her reaction.

"Look, I respect what you're doing here. I get why you push people away. I know where we are, the situation we're in and the role we have to play." Darina took a deep breath, stepping backwards. "But you don't have to be such a…bitch about it. You'll make enemies that way. You don't want friends, but I can assure you, you don't want enemies either."

With that, Darina walked away, leaving Aurelie stunned to silence at her retreat.

Some part of Aurelie wanted to shout after the uptight bitch. Another part wanted to throw a knife into the back of her skull.

The part that took over was a part that Aurelie didn't want getting further than she intended. It was a part that respected Darina for standing up.

She was a nice girl, but she had her boundaries, and she knew things that the others seemed to forget. Aurelie never quite let people see the truth, but she respected those with a backbone.

Darina wasn't so bad.

She'd found one flicker of hope in a shit-pile of an alliance. A blessing, really.

A curse, maybe.

Darina was a threat, like everyone else. But a threat she could tolerate for the time being.

Tolerating was a hard thing to come by, being Aurelie. The fact Darina had taken that step forwards.

Well, it was a miracle.

Almost too good to be true.

* * *

**Marshall Kilbourne, 18 years old;  
District Five Male.**

* * *

Marshall watched the boy from Six, Ryon Blythe, walk away between Varity and Dante.

A small part of him was jealous. The part that had waited a long time to find an alliance, scouting out from the shadows, and now his District partner had found not one, but two to create her only little team.

He wasn't being particularly picky. He was waiting for the right person to present his or herself. A team would be good, but Marshall not only wanted allies that could help him in the Games, but allies that would pretty much have his back the whole time.

He wasn't stupid. Marshall was no fighter, not in the physical sense. He'd be dead in minutes if he had no one to support him in a fight. Perhaps it was wrong to use people as shields to further himself, but to even have a chance at making it back home after everything he'd done in Five, this was the right thing. If he had to worm his way into the hearts of an alliance, he'd do just that.

They'd be bodyguards, basically. That was the only way he'd make it far. When they died, then he'd think up another plan. Right now, it was step by step in the present, he had to keep focused on the here and now, not what he couldn't predict.

He wasn't in Five where he could sell useless trinkets for an extortionate amount of money. Instead of selling produce, he'd have to sell himself. Yesterday, he'd have handled Rell a lot better if he'd actually wanted to be in her alliance. Her emotional state wouldn't do him any favours. The second she had to choose between Cillian or Marshall, it was obvious who she'd go for.

He didn't have time for that.

He made his way round the left side of the training hall and positioned himself between two stations. Alliances came and went. He offered them all friendly nods, cheerful smiles, or the occasional frown just to humour himself as time drifted on by.

He'd already weeded out from the others who he'd have to keep an eye on and who he wouldn't. That was one thing he knew coming into this thing. He'd have made it nowhere in Five if he didn't know how to read people. Thankfully, it was a talent that was paying off in the Capitol. The tributes were far too easy.

_Except Varity, _he thought, with a grin. She was a curious individual. He hoped he'd get to talk to her in the Arena. She might try to kill him, but maybe not. Maybe in some hidden way, she liked him. He certainly liked her. At least, she was entertaining. Her intelligence was admirable.

Another twenty or so minutes passed on by and the boy from Ten made his way over to Marshall. He offered him a friendly wave and picked up a spear, tossing it between his hands, caught it in his right, and threw it at the target. Marshall watched it and when it hit a few rings out from the centre, he whistled in false amazement and smiled when they met eyes.

"Impressive. You a first timer with a spear?"

Dominic Larson was a cheerful person. But also someone that you had to watch your mouth around. Marshall had seen the way he'd spoken to Scyla, only for their conversation to turn sour. He didn't seem so bad right now. Marshall could use that temper. As long as he was on his good side, the bad side would show itself for anyone but Marshall.

"I'm a first timer with all these weapons. Still, they're rather easy once you get to grips with the basics." Dominic gripped onto another spear. "What about you?"

"I've been going here and there, trying out everything. The more we know, right? Us newbies to this training business should stick together, don't you think?"

Dominic paused, blinked, and then smiled. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"

Marshall shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. It was honestly that easy to draw someone in. Someone who cherished friendship rather than logic. Dominic wanted a group to lead. He'd yet to find that group. "That's up to you. Maybe I was making a general statement about us outliers, or maybe I was-"

A loud, female voice cut him off from continuing. Vallah Marchant, followed by Carson from Eleven, moved her arm around round Dominic's back and picked up a spear, smiling at the two of them. Marshall quickly covered up a brief moment of annoyance and winked at her, offering her a grin and the other boy the same thing.

"What you boys talking about?" She didn't seem to care she'd basically shouldered her way in, uninvited. Carson seemed a little bit more hesitant. But he was friendly. He smiled back at Marshall, then at Dominic, and picked up his own spear. "I'm Vallah. This is Carson. You two allies?"

Dominic and Marshall exchanged a look. Dominic clapped him on the shoulder with a hearty laugh and nodded his head. "I think we just may be. I suppose you two are?"

"Carson and I are the best of pals, aren't we Car'?"

"Yeah," Carson nodded, smiling. "The best of pals."

_Hm, _Marshall had only been thinking up scenarios with temperamental yet friendly Dominic Larson. Now there was Carson and Vallah who had randomly thrown themselves into the equation. Unlike Rell, Vallah seemed to not care who you were. Maybe her loyalty was lesser known. And Carson, he was approachable yet calm. He was a good balance.

_Maybe this could work. _

"So, what brings you to our neck of the woods?" Marshall asked, directing his question to the pair of them.

Vallah was first to answer, something Marshall was starting to pin down about her character. "Checking out the competition. Or maybe we're checking out future… propositions."

"Really?" Marshall laughed, sharing a sideways look with Dominic. A few minutes ago, he'd come over here to throw a weapon, alone and desperate. Now, he was thriving in an atmosphere Marshall could tell he'd hungered for. They were all prepared in their own way, but all deluded as well. Delusion would help.

They were strong enough to defend Marshall, but weak enough that if the time came, he could find ways that weren't so upfront to dispose of them. He wasn't a heartless guy. He knew what they had back home. Friends and families. Lives that were important. But so did Marshall. He had every right to be selfish. Every right to detach himself from feeling and focus on self-gain.

Anything else was absurd to think about.

That's why he couldn't understand these friendships people were making. The whole concept of loyalty astounded him. _Maybe I'm just an asshole. At least I know that about myself. _He knew what he wanted in life. No one could criticize him for that.

"There aren't too many people left now without a group, or partner. Something tells me we can trust the pair of you. Or at least, you seem friendly. We like friendly people." Vallah nudged Carson in the ribs. "Well, I do. Carson's not a quiet chap, he's just very focused. He doesn't like messing up."

Marshall directed his next question to Carson. His answer would make or break the potential in this alliance. "What do you think of this idea then, Carson? Is saying yes to an alliance going to mess up the way you see things, or is it one way of strengthening our chances, together?"

There was no such thing as together. But Vallah liked community. Dominic definitely did. And Carson, well, hopefully he did.

With a nod, it settled everything. He obviously did. As focused as he was on the outcome, he was just like everyone else. Survival came second to retaining humanity.

Marshall had learnt the hard way that life worked in the complete opposite direction.

"I guess that settles it then," Marshall said, shaking both Vallah's hand, Dominic's, and Carson's. In a matter of minutes, his chances of finding a team to protect him had skyrocketed. Now he had a chance. He was painfully self-aware he wasn't a fighter. Now he was part of this alliance, there was no telling how far he could go.

He was both excited, and scared.

The future held so many possibilities. So many twists and turns.

"I tried to think up a team name yesterday," Vallah said, offering her spear to Dominic, who threw it with a laugh, beaming at the thought of his newfound team. "Any ideas?"

Marshall didn't care.

But for the sake of his allies, he pretended to jump straight into the situation, the four of them getting along like the best of friends.

_Let's see how long this lasts, _he thought, satisfied with himself. _Let's see if I've made the right decision._

He hoped he had.

His life depended on it.

* * *

**Alaric Benatti, 18 years old;  
District Nine Male.**

* * *

Alaric was worried.

He wouldn't admit that to anyone or show it, but he was. It was the final day of training and his hesitance to commit had left him with no choice. At least he didn't think he had a choice. Pretty much everyone in this room now had an alliance, so it was either he muscled into one, or became independent in the Arena.

The thought didn't scare Alaric, more it only continued to worry him. Alaric wasn't an idiot. He was very much aware of what he could and couldn't do. What he could do was be a friend for someone. What he couldn't do was become a lone terminator and eradicate the competition by himself. Rather than fret too much, he kept himself occupied, vigilant in the background as he went from weapon to weapon, trained, focused on his work and the alliances around him, then continued on.

He wasn't nervous about stepping in. Alaric didn't particularly care what people thought of him. But he did care about not making others uncomfortable with his presence. Whilst he didn't care what they might have thought, he did care about making sure that those that didn't deserve to be here, weren't left feeling like their last few days were in the presence of someone they didn't really want to be around.

That was something Alaric had become aware of, watching from the sidelines. A lot of the tributes were too friendly. They opened themselves up, hiding away how they might truly feel so they could have a sense of normalcy about their final moments. Alaric wanted both someone that would help him in the Arena, and someone he could call a friend.

Maybe it was too much to ask, having both. Maybe he had to make a choice. That was the part that worried him even more, the fact that whatever he decided he'd have to stick with unless he was prepared to go alone. And he wasn't. He really wasn't. Alaric was many things, stubborn to a fault and shameless, but he wasn't some vicious killer. He hadn't volunteered for this. He hadn't come here wanting to do wrong, knowing he fully well had to.

There was a difference between bad actions back home, and bad actions in the Arena. The last thing Alaric wanted was to instil a sense of false hope into his chances. He wanted to remain real to himself. He didn't want clouded optimism, but at the same time, he wasn't pessimistic either. He had the right balance. Maybe an ally was the right thing. Maybe not. As long as he was totally, one-hundred percent sure on his decision, then he'd stick with it through and through.

That was why he was one of the last people to find an alliance.

His decision had to be the best decision. The trouble was doing that. Finding someone he could trust with his life, someone he could really, truly, depend on. Alaric was friendly, but he wasn't that friendly. He wasn't trustworthy to the point of delusion.

He preserved, however. With his head high and a certain confidence he'd always cherished back home, he walked round the left side of the training hall, under the ropes and climbing wall where the more agile tributes could nurture the ability to hide and run, rather than stand and fight. Alaric hadn't worked out what he was prepared to do.

Another decision. _So many decisions, so many things that will make or break my time here. _He wasn't scared, though. He refused to admit fear. Worry was alright. Fear was costly.

Prepared to follow his gut and go with what felt right, he walked under the climbing wall, eyes focused forward, and shouted out loud when something fell on top of him. Someone, to be more specific. His entire body hit the mat at their feet, a pounding in his head blocking out his determination to think through things properly. Pain flared up his arm and he yelped out loud again, before going bright red. He was making a big deal of this. People were staring.

He stood up, pushing whoever had fallen on him away, and glared at them.

"Watch where you're going."

It was the girl from Ten. Scyla something. She looked amused, brushing her training outfit down with one hand, the other looked on the verge of bruising. Alaric was somewhat on the cusp of respecting the girl for not broadcasting her pain to anyone. Alaric didn't admit that, though. Rather than give in, he continued to look sour-faced in her direction.

"I fell."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. You fell. On me."

"Oops?" She shrugged her shoulders, looking at the wall and tapping it with her wounded hand. "My hand must have slipped."

"Obviously."

He wanted to be friendly. But at the same time, Alaric had started this conversation rather wary of her, rather angry, so he wasn't about to change how he came across straight away. His arm really hurt.

"Maybe you shouldn't have gotten in the way. Maybe it's your fault."

He opened his mouth incredulously, his eyes widening. _Is she serious? _"It's my fault you fell on me?"

"Maybe I didn't. Maybe you fell on me."

"How does that even…?" He had no idea what she was doing. Was this a joke to her? Was she trying to make him uncomfortable? A small part of Alaric was reminded of a friend back home, a part of himself somewhere within Scyla he enjoyed. She didn't hold back from speaking whatever she felt like. Alaric had always admired that about people. He didn't bottle up because it meant missed opportunities. It meant he cared too much about what other people thought and not enough about what he had to consider himself.

No one's opinion mattered more than Alaric's. He wanted what was best for himself by deciding it alone. But that didn't mean he wanted to put everyone off. He tried to laugh it away, but Scyla was stepping awfully close. Almost too close for comfort.

"I think we should pretend that never happened, alright. We can't decide whose fault it is so that's all there is to it. I'm Scyla. Oh, yeah. That's probably important." She shoved a hand forwards, chuckling to herself. "I hope your arm doesn't hurt too much. I'm sorry for that."

He blinked at her hand, then up at her face. She was a bit much. Alaric had so much to consider, a lot going on inside his head that he couldn't really process much of one thought separately. He was aware that she was staring at him, smiling like nothing bad happened, like she hadn't practically squashed him, with her arm in front of her.

_Oh, _he laughed awkwardly, grabbing her hand and shaking it with his own nervous laugh. Alaric was slowly getting embarrassed. Scyla, though, didn't seem to notice any of that. She only laughed with him and patted him enthusiastically on the shoulder.

"It seems we're perhaps the last two here without a buddy."

He looked across the room. "Seems like it."

"Crazy idea. I mean, you know, it only makes sense, don't you think? For us, to…"

She stared expectantly into Alaric's eyes. He wanted to spend time thinking about it. He wanted to consider everything he could gain and everything he could lose. At the end of the day, he was in this to win. He needed the one ally that could help him get there, but wasn't too big of a threat to make him worry over his chance.

But he didn't think it through. This time, he pushed through all that and became his normal, friendly, chipper self. If he worried so much, he'd get nowhere. The one ally he could make would find someone else and it'd be him, alone, fighting a losing battle.

Alaric needed that chance.

He'd nurture it until he'd given it his all. Scyla was that way forward. An opportunity he wouldn't let go.

"Let's do it. Team Alaric." He clapped her on the shoulder, laughing.

Scyla punched him in his own shoulder, shaking her head. "Team Scyla all the way. It has a better ring than Alaric."

"No chance."

They continued to chatter away.

With Alaric and Scyla now a duo, everyone in the training hall now had someone.

A few days to go and the alliances would start to fall apart, testing their strengths, their resolve and their commitment to themselves and each other.

Alaric wasn't focused on that right now. He was building bridges with his new ally.

Right now, everything else was in the background.

Nothing else mattered but the present.

He had his ally.

* * *

**Final day of training! **

**Alliances are up on the blog, here's a final list as well. I'm aware Ryon was added into an alliance at the very beginning of Marshall's POV so you didn't actually get to see it from his perspective. Don't worry, you'll get to see how they work very soon.**

**The Careers.  
Cillian + Rell + Eveny.  
Marshall + Vallah + Dominic + Carson.  
Varity + Ryon + Dante.  
Adrina + Lucas.  
Garner + Kira.  
Alaric + Scyla.  
Neimera + Acacia.**

**Let me know what your favourite alliance is so far and why!**

**Thanks for reading :D**


	15. Straight for the Knife

**Chapter Fifteen.**

* * *

**Private Gamemaker Sessions.**

* * *

**Darina Pallone, 18 years old;  
District Four Female.**

* * *

Luella sat down next to Darina, clinging to her hand with her trademark smile, spread ear to ear.

"Aren't you going to go and join Prosper upstairs?" The girl from Four asked.

Darina had seen how close they'd become. Two peas in a pod. Best friends without really getting to know one another. She quickly thought of Aurelie and tried not to frown. Her ally knew better than anyone here. But she still didn't stand by how she treated others based on what she believed herself.

The truth didn't have to make you a bad person.

"I thought I'd join you. Me and you haven't had the chance to get to know one another," Luella let her straight, brunette hair drift down her back, lightly dancing along Darina's shoulder. There was something peaceful about her enthusiasm. It was in your face and made Darina question a lot about what had to happen, but as long as Prosper and Luella were around, some part of her forgot the future.

She wasn't sure if that was a good idea. Aurelie reminded her where they were headed. District One helped her value her life. Value the important stuff. Friendship and trust.

For the time being, Darina would humour Luella. She'd have to work out later what it really meant. If she really trusted this girl, or if she only saw her the same way Aurelie, the biggest threat of the Games, did.

"What do you want to know about me?" Darina said, her laugh bringing a larger smile to Luella's lips. "Eighteen years to wrap up in five minutes. Not sure we have a lot of time for that."

"That's alright," Luella leaned forwards, her hair practically brushing Darina's cheek. "What about- um. Hm. Well, why did you choose to volunteer?"

Darina looked at Luella, who looked as keen as a small child. Darina's mind went back to growing up. To training. To everything that had made her the person she was today. That person looked around the room during these past three days and saw people she envied, people that made her hate that part of her. She wanted Aurelie's ability to detach. She wanted Belarius' ability to lead. Ivo's calmness. District One's delusion. She wanted everything for herself because what she was left with, they were bits and pieces of a much better person. Darina wasn't that person. But she'd refused all her life to ever let other people tell her she was.

That was why she'd snapped at Aurelie. Why she regretted it. More-so from fear than guilt. Aurelie was too big a threat to annoy. Everyone back in Four were waiting to jump over someone else's broken resolve for a step in the right direction. Darina had fought so hard for respect, she'd forgotten the real meaning of it.

"I guess I'm here because it feels right." Darina smiled, not knowing how she could really sum up her feelings. "I did it because it was something I had to do."

"I did it for something similar." Luella's eyes fell on the floor, her smile faltering for a second. "I did it for someone. My friends. My… my sisters. They all told me I should do this. I'm happy to be here, happy to make them proud of me. I… I just-"

"Darina Pallone."

Ivo smiled at her as her name drifted from a speaker, hanging over their heads. She watched his back with a frown on her face, her thoughts on haywire. Such a simple question and Darina felt so much building up and up, pushing against her shoulders.

She wanted to be perfect. She'd never known when to say no to not wanting more. What boundaries existed, Darina had always stepped over them without thinking. Had Aurelie yesterday been a boundary she'd crossed? Was indulging Luella's fantasy they could all get along something she shouldn't be doing, even though it made her feel normal?

She stood up, Luella's good luck nothing but background noise, a faint hum in her ear as she walked through the double doors and into the training room. She knew one thing. This was a moment to prove anyone who had ever said otherwise wrong. To show them she knew what she was doing. Maybe the situation made her think too much, but a score was a score. Something so simple as a number would make her believe in herself, or make her question and question and never stop.

She'd give them a show. She'd do what she had to do, because if she didn't, she was nothing more than the very girl she fought to never become.

Once she reached the middle of the room, she remembered everything she'd prided herself on, her ability to be courteous, refined and composed around other people, and swallowed down the questions for a small, polite smile. When the Head Gamemaker's piercing violet eyes landed on her face, Darina straightened her back, her hair tied up and over one shoulder, and offered her a determined nod of her head.

"Darina Pallone. District Four. Here to show you what I can do." When the Head Gamemaker gestured to the room, she nodded again and got to work. There was a lot she could demonstrate. She'd been told by Belarius not to ignore the survival skills during training, but here, she shouldn't use them. Berries were for those who couldn't throw a knife. They wanted killers. Not fruit pickers.

She walked straight for the archery station. It was a weapon she'd gotten to grips with properly, the foundation had been laid over the years, but with her aim nearly perfect now, she scored a few bulls-eyes' and continued to move on without stalling.

The second she ran out of arrows, she moved onto spears. When she ran out of spears, she cut apart the left hand stack of dummies until they were nothing but slithers of cream fabric, left draped on the ground, tufts of their cotton innards swirling on the floor, reminding her what would soon replace the innocent white material.

_Blood. _Darina kept her face composed, her entire focus on what she had to do, but that word made its way unwanted to the back of her mind. If Aurelie could kill without flinching, so could Darina. If Belarius, and Ivo, and even some of the outer District kids could take a life, knowing it had to be done, Darina could kill more.

Whatever they could do, she could do. She'd made close relationships, knowing that she was just as able in that department as Belarius and District One. And she'd trained, on and on, focused like Ivo and Aurelie. She didn't need to doubt herself.

She didn't want to be seen as weak. Or a second rate version of someone else. Someone stronger. Someone more cut out for the Games. That was not Darina.

It never would be.

With a final slash of a sword, Darina bowed for the Gamemakers and started to walk away. The knife behind her back went to the tips of her fingers, and just before she disappeared through the doors, she threw it across the room with a satisfied smirk as it sunk into the head of the very last dummy left tethered to the railing.

_I've done it. _She'd proven herself. Not just to the Careers, or the other tributes, or the Gamemakers, Capitol, Districts and Panem. She'd proven herself to herself.

There was no harsher critic than the one within.

If she was happy, there was no stopping her.

Darina was going to win.

* * *

**Ryon Blythe, 16 years old;  
District Six Male.**

* * *

Ryon hated how fast things were going.

The clock continued to tick down the seconds that passed, seconds that blended into minutes which would soon turn to hours. With every _tick tock _his time here was shortening. He was shit scared, he'd already told Adrina that. He could feel it, in his chest, pulsating like a second heart, drowning out every ounce of normal Ryon.

He fought it away. He didn't care what the clock told him, or what his Escort prattled on about, or the other tributes tapping their feet nervously, the Careers no doubt impatient to get to the Games. He didn't want to go, but knowing there was nothing he could do to fight against the inevitable, he'd chosen to at least try to make something of his time here.

He could have gone in alone. Instead, as he sat between Varity and Dante, the boy from his ally's District about to finish up, Ryon focused on his newfound allies. He wouldn't say he particularly liked them. He wouldn't say he disliked them either. He hardly knew them. Aside from their names, their Districts and a few traits here and there, they were nothing but strangers.

They were his allies, though. And that had to mean something to Ryon. If he couldn't focus on anything without feeling the dread of change overwhelming him, he had to try to make something of this team. If they were easier to handle, that might have made him want to try a little bit harder. But he wasn't exactly a ray of sunshine himself, so he tried not to judge.

_Yeah, like that will ever happen. _He smirked and fell back into the wall. Varity stared at the side of his face, raising an eyebrow.

"What's so funny?" Varity shared a look with Dante, on the other side of Ryon. "Something you want to share?"

Ryon shrugged his shoulders, laughing quietly. "No, nothing. Just thinking. Nothing else to do here but think."

"You know that thing you're using to talk right now," Dante laughed, poking his jaw. "You could use it some more. I'm sure Varity would love to get to know you a bit better, just as I would."

"Um, Dante-"

"No thanks," Ryon said, shaking his head. Yeah, he had no idea about his allies, but maybe it was better that way. They didn't seem fake at least. Ryon hated that. He spoke how he felt, harbouring his emotions deep down but his thoughts on his sleeve. He didn't believe that he should sugar-coat the truth with optimistic, friendly lies.

Marshall walked on by, offering a wink to Varity and a smile to the two boys. Ryon squirmed uncomfortably, glaring at his back the whole way down the corridor. _Speaking of fake. _He might not have known it if Varity hadn't narrowed her eyes hotly every time he neared her. She didn't like him. And Ryon, for some reason, trusted her judgement.

"Varity Sparks."

Both Ryon and Varity sat upright at the sound of her name. Ryon because he would be after her. Varity because this was her time to shine. She shrugged it off, nodded at both her allies, and walked down the corridor and into the training room.

"Going to use that mouth?" Dante laughed, resting his head against his arm, leaning with his shoulder on the wall.

Ryon laughed it away and shook his head. He was still trying. No one could fault him for not giving some ounce of energy into at least making something of this new team. Not that he cared about them, but they weren't bad people, they didn't seem that way from a proper glance. Hopefully his judgement wasn't skewed by the fact he'd practically placed his life in their hands.

_They better know what they're doing. _He knew he didn't really, but that was another thing he planned on doing. He planned on at least trying in the Games. Six might have been shit, but it couldn't be as shit as death. There was nothing after that. Endless darkness.

_Yeah, not for me. I'd rather life. _

Time continued to drift on by, floating around his head, every tick of the clock like it was purposely tormenting him specifically. Ryon craved a drink. Or food. Or something. Even his bed. The fluffy pillows and soft mattress were a heaven. A luxury he really was going to miss once he made it to the Arena.

Dante poked him in the ribs when Varity nodded once again at her allies, then strode to the elevator doors and out of sight. He gulped, something lodged in his throat. Nerves or that irritating sense of fear he couldn't get rid of. Ryon stood up at the sound of his name, tried to at least smile at Dante, and walked into the training room.

It was bigger than he remembered. Without the tributes and trainers to take up space, everything seemed spread out and more intimidating. He mustered up his courage, stood in the centre of the hall, and waited impatiently for the Gamemakers to pay attention to him.

"I've got all the time in the world," Ryon said, louder than he should have. He didn't regret the distasteful glare sent his way from a rather pudgy Gamemaker. "Please, continue talking."

The Head Gamemaker straightened her back and nodded at him, waving to the training room, gesturing for Ryon to begin. Now it was this part. The part he really hadn't been looking forward to. Ryon didn't deal with responsibility. The pressures of everything on his shoulders. Dante had been friendly about it, but there had been some underlying anger directed at his allies when he spoke of scores. _Fuck up and you'll have Mr Fist to answer to. _Or something along those lines.

Ryon swallowed another lump in his throat and walked towards a random weapon station. The knife in his fingers felt foreign and unwelcome. The other tributes didn't mean a thing to him, but he didn't count them as non-human entities he could trample over. They were still living, breathing beings. The thought of using the blade in his hands to snuff out a life sent a shiver down his spine.

"You have one of two choices. Stab or throw. Please, hurry along Ryon Blythe." The Head Gamemaker said, with an air of superiority, but the words earned a ripple of laughter amongst her co-workers. Ryon nodded and threw the knife, wincing when it hit the floor.

As he continued to work, he scored a few throws that turned out well, a fair few missing just like the first one. Afterwards, he swallowed down any ounce of fear for his future with the weapons and toyed with a spear, running his hand along the wooden end before slicing apart a dummy.

It was average. Nothing special.

Ryon tried not to show he cared. Maybe another time, another place, he wouldn't have. But this time, his score reflected on him. Maybe he didn't care what it meant for his allies, but for his own chances, a good score would help his survival rate if he needed the assistance of a sponsor.

He gritted his teeth when he was dismissed.

"How'd it go mate?" Dante asked, once he made it back to the waiting benches. Ryon shrugged what he had to say away and disappeared back in the elevator and up to District Six's quarters.

Once in his room, he fell into his bed and closed his eyes.

_I want to go home. _Ryon didn't cry. He wouldn't start that shit. He didn't do that kind of thing.

But he did.

Sadly, there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

He was terrified.

* * *

**Dominic Larson, 18 years old;  
District Ten Male.**

* * *

Dominic was thriving.

Yesterday morning, he'd woken up feeling alone, bitter and angry. He'd made promises to his family and himself that he intended to keep, but no promise would ever come true if he didn't find people he could share his time with.

Now that he had them, Dominic felt like the constraints he'd been wrapped up in were finally coming free. Marshall had gone back up to his floor. Dominic liked Marshall. If it hadn't been for him being so forward yet friendly, maybe Vallah and Carson wouldn't have chosen to walk up to them.

He owed him a lot. There was an underlying, hidden threat amongst all the carnage and violence. It was the threat of insanity. The knowledge that piece by piece, who you were inside would unravel more and more, step by step, second by second. That could have happened if Dominic had been left alone. If he didn't have a sense of direction and purpose.

Winning was the ultimate goal. But winning wouldn't be possible if he couldn't pave the journey with acts of friendship.

"Decided what you're going to show?" Carson piped up, from the left side of him. Vallah had left to go demonstrate her own set of skills a few moments ago. Anyone else might have only been able to open up around those that facilitated the same kind of energy. Just because Carson was a little more reserved, a little more prone to observation than random acts of kindness, it didn't make Dominic feel any less out of his comfort zone.

In fact, it made him happier. Dominic put an arm round his shoulders and smiled. "A bit of this and a bit of that. Maybe just go with the flow. See how things are. I mean, I guess I'm okay-ish with spears." Dominic shrugged, laughing. "What about you? Any secret talents you're hiding from your allies?"

Carson smiled, shaking his head humbly. "No, no. Nothing secret. I've been practicing an awful lot over the past three days. Sometimes I feel like my head is going to explode with what I feel like I have to know, what I do know, and the fear of what I don't. But that's alright. I'll try my best for the team."

"Vallah would kiss you if she heard you use the word team. She loves the idea of us being a team, not just an alliance."

He shrugged, falling back against the wall with an amused grin on his face. "Isn't that what we are? A team? You're all awfully friendly. Vallah and you especially."

"I just want what's best for us all."

Carson looked up at Vallah's arrival. She placed a hand on Dominic's shoulder, breathing loudly, sighing with exertion. "Well that's knocked about fifty years off my life." Dominic pretended not to feel the irony of such a joke. The ability to have fifty years to knock off required victory. _And she can't win… my very own friend cannot win. _"Good luck in there, Dom'."

"Thanks." He smiled at Vallah, then at Carson, and stood up to go. The small girls from Eleven and Twelve looked at him as he went. Dominic smiled at them too. Allies or not, they weren't his enemies. Obstacles in the road to his true goal, but not enemies. They were just innocent girls. No one deserved the fate waiting for them once the Games started.

All he could see was his sisters, going round and round inside his head as Neimera and Acacia's faces drifted from view. Their bond was similar to the one his siblings' shared. He tried to keep a smile on his face, once or twice the corner of his lip twitching, morphing into a split second frown that he refused to let control him.

Dominic tried his absolute best to be the picture perfect representation of not just physically ready, but emotionally ready. Once inside the training hall, he politely offered all the Gamemakers a wave and stationed himself in the centre, waiting for them to say he could start. Normally, Dominic might have thrown himself into the situation impatiently.

He hadn't really thought through the alliance he'd chosen. Scyla had pointed that out. Dominic didn't weigh out the pros and cons. He went with his gut feeling, planned on the spot, visualized the future as it became the present. He wasn't the kind of guy to lay low and plot and plan his way through the Games.

Maybe that was an advantage. Or maybe it was what Scyla tried to politely explain it as. Whatever the case, Dominic wasn't about to change. He kept his head high with confidence and when the Head Gamemaker said he could start, he walked straight over to the spears and picked the nearest one up.

The weapon felt comfortable in his hand. The mere idea of such a thing unsettled him. He never wanted to become comfortable with weapons. The notion of what they did and the reason he'd be using them. But Dominic continued to keep his back straight, shoulders up, and himself composed as he twisted round and threw it forwards.

It hit one ring from the centre. _Good enough. Not perfect. _Good enough would do. Dominic liked a challenge. If he was perfect from the get go, there'd be no such thing as a real fight. He continued training with that mind-set, trying to out-do himself with every spear throw, knife toss and slash of a dummy.

He threw some weights around the room, he ran the course, and with only seconds to go, he quickly remembered something Carson had shown him yesterday and sorted out six or so different types of berry and poisonous fruit.

He was dripping with sweat. Something in his chest hurt, a dull sort of ringing in his ears as he breathed in and out, swaying back to the centre. With a cheery wave bidding goodbye to the Gamemakers, he went back through the doors to Carson who was still waiting for his turn.

Scyla had been waiting near the doors for about half an hour, eager to get to show what she could do. She winked at Dominic, Dominic tried to smile back, and once he made it to his ally, he fell back into the bench with a groan and then burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?"

He rolled his shoulder, wincing when it clicked. "I think I tried a bit too much."

"You look exhausted."

"I feel it," he clutched his chest, shaking his head and legs, ignoring another crack somewhere near his knee. "You only get to do this once. Might as well give it your all."

"I'm proud of you," Carson smiled, clapping him gently on the shoulder. "We'll show them what our alliance can do."

"That we will," Dominic smiled, nudging Carson in the side. "Show them we aren't to be messed with."

Dominic didn't want to be known as a threat. He wasn't a killer. A fighter. Or even a bad person.

For the sake of his team, though, he'd given every ounce of himself so he could prove they were something special. He wanted his team to prosper in the Arena. He wanted them to have the same chance as anybody else.

_I've shown what we are. _Dominic stood up to go, saying goodbye to Carson. _We mean business._

He'd made his mark.

There was nothing more he could do.

* * *

**Training scores will be on the blog. I couldn't show them here so if you want to see what everyone got, they'll be up there. **

**Oh, btw everyone, felicitea has an open SYOT, so I recommend you all go over there and submit a tribute. The prologue was amazing, so yes, go go go!**

**Thanks for reading! **


	16. Pin Down

**Chapter Sixteen.**

* * *

**Interviews.**

* * *

**Prosper Livingston, 18 years old;  
District One Male.**

* * *

The Capitol had been like a storybook. Beautiful and curious, filled with fascinating characters that had come to life around him, springing from the pages and into reality.

He enjoyed his position in the Careers. The alliance he had trained for, the group that would be a part of him until he came out the other end as Victor. He cherished their connection.

Luella was lightly pulling her fingers through her hair, tousling it with her other hand, unsure how it should look. Prosper threaded his fingers through the hand that moved to mess up her hair again.

"It's beautiful, Luella. You're beautiful." Prosper let her hand drift back down to her hip. "Don't worry. You have everything and are everything they're looking for."

"I hope so," Luella bit her lip, before smiling for Prosper, a blush creeping along her cheeks. "You look handsome, Prosper. You always compliment me and I feel like I never say it back. Honestly, I think you are."

"We'll make District One proud of its heroes." He squeezed her hand, absorbing the energy of her smile and letting it wipe away any shred of doubt within. His father was not here. Anyone who had ever told him _no _were far away, back home, where they could only observe rather than corrupt him. They mattered nothing, for the time being. The only people he cared about was himself and his allies. His friends. A group that he had come to cherish more than anything he had had back home.

His eyes went down the line, landing on Belarius, Aurelie, Ivo and Darina. Even Aurelie, Prosper wanted to protect. He wanted to be the gallant knight that stuck by his companions through thick and thin. He wanted to be everything the Career system valued. Strength. Power. Importance.

Luella clutched his hand, squeezing it with her dainty fingers. "Don't be nervous."

"I'm not nervous." Prosper laughed. "Going up first is a good thing. The others Districts have to mean nothing to us. They are nothing. We're taught to look out for our own, I intend on doing just that. If I make them like me, you, and our alliance; those from the outer-Districts will fall to the background."

"They don't deserve it, Prosper."

He nodded his head, letting her fingers fall from his own. "Of course they don't. Doesn't mean I'll put them before you. Or me. Or the people I have to protect."

Luella went to say something else, but it was quickly drowned out by the roar that spread through the stadium. The interviews had been something Prosper looked forward to. Anything he thought about himself, deep down, buried and inaccessible, meant nothing to him. He was proud to represent One. Proud to represent himself on stage, in front of millions.

A name was called, his name, and with a confident nod to no one in particular, he flashed a smile over his shoulder for Luella and whisked himself on stage. The moment he crossed the threshold between the background and spotlight, he raised his hand in the air and waved for everyone, grin from ear to ear, drawing them in like he had anyone he'd tried to let into his life. Everyone he wanted to get close to.

The Capitol gave him that chance. An opportunity to be his friend. He relished in their applause until it died down, Caesar Flickerman taking his hand and shaking it firmly in his own, clapping him on the back as they descended into the armchairs sat opposite one another.

As a hush fell across the audience, Caesar clasped his hands together, leaning forwards to stare right into Prosper's eyes. He met those flaming orange eyes with a similar sort of intensity, smiling for him, ready for whatever was about to happen.

Three seconds passed, counted down in silence, and then his interview began.

"We see a lot of different relationships between the tributes from One, Two and Four. Sometimes on stage, giving us their interview, what they say falls apart the moment the Games begin." Caesar looked out to the audience, then back at Prosper. "Is there something special about your alliance this year? Something that makes it stand out, gives it a unique identity. Makes us at home hold a breath, excited for what you have to give."

Prosper thought for a second, answer on the tip of his tongue. "Simple." With a laugh, he fell back into the plush velvet cushion and looked straight into Caesar's eyes. "Me."

The silence in the audience broke the second he said that. Everyone started laughing, Caesar looking right at him and over his shoulder, as if searching for Luella or someone else. Prosper shook his head and stopped himself from chuckling loudly and brightly.

"In all honesty, it's not just me, it's everyone. We're all part of something important. Something special that means a lot not just to me, but to us all." Prosper took a deep breath, relaxing himself into the chair and falling forwards to rest his head against the flats of his knuckles. "We're the main characters in this story. The people you should keep an eye on and never let out of your sight. They're my friends. They mean everything to me, like I know I mean everything to them. Everything else is nothing compared to that kind of unity. Just you wait."

Caesar nodded, clapping him on the knee. He seemed pleased. Pleased was good. Prosper only wanted to make the Careers out to be the best of the best. Because they were. There was no denying that. They had everything the Capitol wanted.

"Let's talk about those scores from yesterday. Aurelie with an eleven. _Eleven._" Someone whistled in the audience, astounded. Prosper had been shocked, sure. But pleased. Definitely pleased for his ally. "Two tens. A nine. Then there was poor Luella who I'm sure will give us her side of the story on that six. And then you. With an eight."

"If it's fine with my friends, it's fine with me." Prosper smiled falsely. It was the first time he had to force himself through gritted teeth to continue. An eight reminded him too much that his father was probably the opposite of proud. That he didn't see Prosper the way he saw himself. But an eight was still something. Luella had the six. Prosper had the eight. That meant it was his job to help her, to give her guidance, to show her the way through the Games so One could get their victor in the end.

It wouldn't be Luella. It wouldn't be any of his friends. But an eight meant nothing. It was only a number. Prosper was still going to win.

"Overall, though, I must say you've all proven yourselves to the Capitol. We're excited to see that bond you say is so important develop on screen. I'm sure it will be a sight for us all."

"It will," Prosper nodded, determined. "Sometimes people lie on this stage. They tell false stories. You see broken relationships flounder before they even had the chance to become something beautiful. We're not like that. We're perfect because we make it perfect. We work."

"Then I wish you the best of luck."

The interview ended shortly after. With nothing more to say, the buzzer sounded and Caesar shook Prosper's hand for the final time. He waved for the audience, walking back through the curtain and backstage. Luella hugged him tight, Belarius clapped him proudly on the shoulder, Aurelie ignored him, and the pair from Four smiled their approval.

He only wanted what was best for them all. To see them reach their potential and exceed it.

The Games were that chance, a future he'd trained for most of his life, to see a part of himself that he knew had always existed.

Prosper had worked hard back in One. He'd worked hard here in the Capitol. In the Games, there would be no exception to a long line of dedication and commitment.

He was just getting started.

And tomorrow, everything would begin.

The Careers would show them all.

* * *

**Eveny Audori, 18 years old;  
District Seven Female.**

* * *

She'd found the right alliance.

The fact that Cillian and Rell, their interviews over, were still waiting with her told her everything Eveny needed to know. The pair from District Three would not let her down. She wouldn't let them down, either. What had to happen would happen. The inevitable was called the inevitable for a reason. But she'd found the right alliance.

Cillian, Rell and Eveny. It had a nice ring to it.

Rell was worried. More worry than Eveny had grown used to seeing the red-head display. "Do you think I did alright? I-I only wanted to give a good impression. I think the heat went to my head." She fanned herself, giggling nervously, kicking off her heels with twitchy smile.

Eveny took her hand and squeezed it tight. Cillian glowed at the gesture. He wasn't the jealous kind. A friend of Rell was a friend of his. A friend of Cillian's was a friend of Rell's. Their trio worked.

"You have nothing to worry about," Eveny guided Rell's hand to Cillian's. "You two shouldn't have to stay around waiting for me to finish up. The longer you're down here the more it might get to you."

"But we want to wait, don't we?" Cillian said.

Rell nodded, stubbornly. Her perfectly curled hair was slowly growing more and more messy away from the spotlight. She angrily dragged a hand through it and groaned. "We want to be with you, Eveny. You can't tell me not to worry then expect me to just leave you alone. That's not what friends do."

_Friends. _Garner was wrapping up his interview. She thought they could have gotten along. But he'd found a companion in the quieter girl from Eight. She seemed friendly enough. Eveny wasn't about to judge her over some distant threat of jealousy. In the end, things had worked out well. If Garner had have said yes, maybe she wouldn't have met the humble Cillian, or the brazen Rell.

Still, _it would have been nice to not get a no, without getting to know me. _Eveny would never have judged Garner so quickly. They didn't seem to share the same way of looking at strangers, apparently.

"Well, I appreciate it. I just don't want you two fretting over me. It makes me feel bad."

Cillian and Rell laughed. "You don't have to feel guilty just because we care. Eveny, you put too much responsibility on yourself."

"Maybe that's just the way I've always been." Eveny shrugged, one arm instinctively going to her stomach when Garner's interview ended. It was her turn. Her time. She couldn't disappoint the Capitol, it wouldn't only reflect badly on her, but it wouldn't do Cillian or Rell any help if she only increased their unnecessary worry.

They did great. She would too.

Eveny didn't want either of them to feel worthless. Like they'd let down the team. Imaginary disappointments wouldn't help the alliance.

"Good luck," Cillian smiled at her. Rell winked and playfully nudged her forwards. Eveny stumbled once, laughed, and continued onwards with her head held high. The Capitol respected confidence. Eveny was confident. She had been for a long time now.

The Capitol greeted her with warmth and enthusiasm. She waved politely and shook Caesar's hand, falling gracefully into the velvet cushions. Out the corner of her eye, she could see the cameras. She didn't let it get to her.

In fact, on the other end, her family and friends were watching her. The thought brought an even bigger smile to her face, a real, gracious smile. She let the buzz die down in the stadium and stared patiently at Caesar.

They didn't have all the time in the world, but Eveny didn't want to rush things. Whatever pace he wanted, she'd go with. Better to be free than overthink things. It wouldn't do her interview any justice.

"You've probably noticed a pattern with these interview, haven't you?" Caesar laughed, collapsing backwards in the chair, crossing one leg over the other.

"We can talk about anything you want to, I don't mind. Anything. I'm all yours."

"Eager." Caesar winked. Eveny's stomach made a funny noise. She had to force herself to not bring a hand to cover it up. She kept her hands crossed over one knee, grin from ear to ear. This was the Capitol way. Eveny's way.

"I'm an open book. No secrets."

"Well, let's start with that then. Cillian and Rell tell us you're a team. A close team. Any secrets you've been keeping from them?"

It wasn't a secret. Not necessarily. Eveny wanted whatever was best for her friends, but that was impossible. Deep down, unnerving her, threatening her smiles, Eveny recognised what the Games meant. She wasn't deluding herself. It wasn't a secret if it was a known truth, a statement and fact of the Games. Getting close wasn't a good idea. But Eveny still knew they had to die. What was best for them, was not the best for her.

The problem was shaking that off. Promises were easier said face to face to those she loved. Now she'd met the other tributes, it was much harder to stick to them.

Eveny blinked and looked at Caesar. "Nope, none." She shook her head. "Friends don't keep secrets."

"Not any special plans or strategies? Eveny, you're telling me you have nothing?"

"As I said," Eveny let her hands fall from her knee, spread either side of her, as if gesturing to the lack of mystery in the air. "I'm an open book. Always will be."

"Your loyalty to people you've only just met is touching. Truly."

Eveny felt like he was subtly teasing her. Underneath the flaming hair and pearly smile, Caesar thought she was stupid. They were all stupid. The tributes that made connections were nothing but dead bodies waiting to be taken back home.

She'd show him. Just because she had a family to go back to, friends she wanted to see and had promised to them that she'd return, none of that meant she had to be some distant, unsociable killer. The side Eveny was prepared to show in the future. The side she'd told her friends. It was all so terrifying. But she was still determined.

No matter who she'd made friends with.

Maybe that was her secret.

"We're teenagers. Teenagers make friends. I have my friends at home, the people I love." Eveny waved at the camera. "Cillian and Rell remind me of what I've got to fight for."

Caesar wrapped up the interview a few minutes later. Eveny left the stage the same way she'd entered. With a wave, she skipped past the curtain and wrapped her arms round Cillian and Rell, pulling them in for a group hug.

"Do we really remind you of them?" Rell asked, draping a piece of Eveny's hair behind her ear. Cillian pulled away and smiled sadly up at Eveny.

"Don't be sad you remind me of them. It's a good thing. I care about you two."

Cillian and Rell exchanged a look. Seconds later, they went back in for a hug. "We care about you too."

_And you have to die. _Eveny felt like she could cry. She didn't. But she wanted to.

She'd go to any lengths to see Seven again. The people she'd left behind, forcefully dragged away from without really getting to live her life.

They were her everything.

For the ones she loved, Eveny was prepared.

Whatever it took, she'd get it done.

* * *

**Neimera Harlen, 15 years old;  
District Eleven Female.**

* * *

Neimera had never worn anything quite so extravagant as the gown she wore for her interview.

She felt uncomfortable. Back in Eleven, something felt free about the baggy skirts, or rough woollen blouses. Something that told her she didn't have to fear anything. She didn't have to worry.

Prim and overly proper, she was now nothing but a mere puppet to the Capitol. A toy for their entertainment. Carson tried to brighten her up, but Neimera continued to play with the glittery, gold sleeve of her dress, her mind a thousand miles away.

It was sweet for Carson to try, but right now, Neimera had to care for no one but Acacia and herself. Her step-mother would want that. Her mother's friends would want that. They'd want sweet, shy Neimera to spread her wings and protect no one but the people closest to her. Neimera was prepared. More prepared than she had been on the day of the reaping, when she felt like her life was folding in, crashing on her shoulders until she was buried under its rubble.

Now, she had her purpose. Her true purpose. And she'd do everything she could to achieve it. Maybe her future had already been predestined, but she was feeling better about it. Better about her chances. She hadn't given up hope, meaning there was hope. And as long as there was hope, the future could very well be the one she wanted.

First, the interview.

She might have been prepared in an independent sense, but Neimera was still that small, background nobody. The girl who never spoke to anyone her age but one person. When her name was called, loudly, coated thick with energy and enthusiasm, she swallowed a lump in her throat, patted a crease in her dress that didn't exist, and walked slowly onto the stage.

Acacia would want her to do as best she could. Everyone at home, rooting for the mystery girl, would want her to do well. Neimera wanted to do well. She refused to let herself down by bottling up everything and not giving the Capitol what they wanted. Even if she felt like nothing but a speck of dust, flying through the wind above their heads, she sat down with a gracious smile and giggled when Caesar kissed her hand.

"Pleasure to have you, Neimera."

"Pleasure to meet you, Caesar." Neimera looked out into the crowd, over all their perfect, twisted faces. "Pleasure to meet you all."

A general cheer rippled along the audience. Caesar blushed and placed a hand to his heart. "You're very sweet. So, Neimera. Where should we begin?"

"You ask the questions," Neimera giggled. "I give the answers."

"Very true. Alright, alright. Why don't we start where we start with everyone? Eleven. How's life for you back in Eleven, what is there in your home District that gives you your own personal drive to win?"

Neimera continued to smile. Her step-mother and her friends had been living on the edge of the District, near the very outskirts. They were nothing to the rest of Eleven because they were strangers. But Neimera liked that. She liked the freedom of not being a meaningless member of the whole of Eleven, but a meaningful young girl for their group.

"I'm fighting to make it back to my step-mother. I'm fighting because I believe I can do this." Neimera didn't waver or break. As hot as the spotlight was on her neck, as much as her stomach flipped with nerves, her throat dried up, Neimera had to do this. "We're the closest family there is. We don't have much, but what we do have, it's more than enough. I'm proud to be who I am."

She was. She always would be. Acacia had tried to understand, but even she couldn't. Acacia had her teachings in life, her principles, and Neimera had hers. A small part of Neimera felt bad that she'd tried to force them on her ally, tried at the very beginning to make her see it the way she did. That was why Neimera struggled to be with others. Her life had been so contained within where she had been, it was almost alien to see the way others thought.

But that didn't stop Neimera from admiring her younger ally. She had spirit. She'd made the alliance something. For the youngest two girls, they had a chance. Only one could come out, after all. But, with will, fight, and determination, it _could _be one of them.

And then she'd get to see her step-mother again. Everything would be alright. Things would go back to normal.

"It's very moving to hear you speak of your family in that way. I'm sure wherever they are, watching you, they're very proud of you."

"I hope so. I've only ever wanted to make her proud. I want to be proud of myself."

Caesar nodded, looking out at the audience who were clapping politely. Nothing was extraordinary about her interview, but in a way, that was alright with Neimera. She was making an impression by being a normal girl with normal aspirations. Winning the Games was far from the norm, but wanting to see family, wanting to make them proud, that was everything anyone craved in their lives.

She just hoped that it would be in her future. She hoped the cards had been laid on the table, giving her that hope of a life, past these horrors and away from the fighting. She couldn't see Carson dying. Or Acacia. Or even the Careers, the scary girl from Two especially. But everyone died. Everyone, even the strongest man on earth.

"I think age shouldn't come into play. Appearance means something, but in the Games, surprises keep things fresh and interesting. If you knew everything that was going to happen before it happened, there'd be no point in watching the Games." Neimera looked upon the crowd and smiled at them all. "I don't believe everything is as it seems. I only ask you don't count me out yet. Give me a chance and I'll try to make you, as well as my family, proud of me."

Caesar asked more questions about her family. About her District. About Acacia and their alliance. Neimera answered as best she could, slowly growing more and more confident with every comment she gave, every cheer of the audience and every encouraging smile and wink of the man sat opposite her. If they acted like they believed in her, Neimera had every right to believe in herself too.

She'd been calm the whole way through the Capitol.

In the Games, as long as she kept a cool head, she remained focused, she prepared for the things that needed preparing for, Eleven wouldn't be too far off. No one had it perfect, but Neimera had something she craved more than perfection. She had a way of life. A step-mother. Everything she'd grown up with would not slip through her fingers because she'd been taken from it.

Her interview ended with a final round of applause. Neimera stood up, curtsied for them all, and walked back through to the backstage area. Carson walked with her towards the elevator. As much as she tried to, she couldn't connect with him.

He had to mean nothing, as painful as it might be. As wrong as it was.

The Games were meant to be won alone.

Living far away from everyone, a nobody, meant Neimera understood loneliness better than anyone.

The Games were made for people like her.

Neimera had what it took to win.

She refused to believe otherwise.

* * *

_**A chart of opinions, including all twenty-four tributes?**_

* * *

**And with this chapter, every tribute has now had their second POV!**

**The final Capitol chapter will be the launch. It should be up tomorrow, that particular chapter is quite short so it won't take me too long. And then, after that, the Games begin.**

**Let me know what you thought, we're nearly there!**

**(Edit: The launch chapter may be up today as well. Keep an eye out for that as well.)**


	17. Puppet

**Chapter Seventeen.**

* * *

**Launch.**

* * *

Marshall woke up, looked in the mirror, and sighed.

_This is it. _Today was the day. In a matter of hours, he would either be dead, or running from the bloodbath with his allies. Or maybe he'd be alone. Maybe his plan would mean nothing and they would all die. The thought wasn't a good thought. It left nothing but a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He was surviving the only way he knew how. That didn't mean he wanted them to die. His hand found the glass of his mirror and biting on his tongue, he stifled a sob that threatened to come out, and shook his head.

_Let's do this._

Meanwhile, in the other room, Varity was trying just as hard to control herself. She wasn't scared. This was it, really. Everything she'd prepared for boiled down to a few minutes of fear and adrenaline. There was nothing she could do but focus. She had allies. She had her goal. With that in mind, she got ready for the Games.

On the floor above, Ryon and Adrina ate breakfast in a solemn silence, hanging thick above the air. It threatened to choke the two of them, but both were determined to suffer in peace, relishing a kind of silent strength. Adrina could have started to laugh. Not because she was happy. More a scared laugh. She had no idea where her emotions were, really.

Ryon wasn't handling it any better. He'd been crying a lot recently. Time had been his enemy for a while. Now he had to be not only responsible for looking after himself, but for making sure he didn't die. What kind of sixteen year had to do that? Kill or die. Fight or run. It was all too much. Ryon wasn't cut out for the future that he'd been forced into.

It wasn't fair.

The hour they all had after waking up, trickled down into minutes, falling into seconds. Cillian and Rell stood as close as they could next to one another in the elevator. Cillian was terrified, but he kept a calm, controlled and composed face on. Externally, if he could make others believe he was coping, then internally maybe his emotions would follow on and change for the better.

Rell was a mess. She was trying for Cillian. Smiling, laughing when he told a joke, or cracking her own for the sake of a reflection of her life back in Three. But her breakfast was slowly coming up. She remembered her Escort, at the reaping, hiding back disgust when her hangover had left her vomiting on her shoes. This time, when the elevator reached the roof of the Tribute Centre, she bent down and let her breakfast scorch her throat as it covered her escort's feet for a second time.

Alcohol the first time, terror the second. This journey had sucked.

Belarius nudged Aurelie in the side, pointing a finger at the pair from Three, laughing to brighten the mood. Of course, he expected nothing less than for Aurelie to flip her hair over one shoulder, act like he didn't exist, and storm into the open hovercraft she'd been assigned. For all she cared, Belarius could choke on his own vomit.

_You don't mean that. _Aurelie frowned. No. She disliked him, but she didn't hate him. Belarius felt the same way. Aurelie was doing what she felt was right, but in the process was making things a hundred times harder to control. Ivo passed by and joined Belarius, bidding Darina a goodbye. If they had to make the choice sooner rather than later, Belarius was prepared.

"Do you think it will happen?" Ivo asked, following his friend onto the hovercraft. Ivo was scared. He knew he was, and he knew Belarius was too. He kept it controlled though and focused entirely on what Belarius had hinted at days ago.

"I think so."

"I've got your back," Ivo whispered, buckling himself up into a chair by the window. He'd tried to believe everyone in his pack could function the same way. Now, he wasn't so sure. Some people just weren't good. Bad people existed.

Acacia and Neimera were on the same hovercraft as the two Career boys. Acacia pretended they weren't there. She laughed. She smiled. She did everything the way she always had done, back in Twelve and here in the Capitol. Sure, she was scared. But fear was only strong if you let it control you. Acacia would not be beaten by something she could control.

Neimera felt the same way. Only she was quieter than Acacia, listening rather than talking. When they took to the air, Neimera wincing when the tracker was inserted into her arm, she thought about Eleven and what she was leaving behind.

No one understood. They were all going to something that had been set out from birth. Even before that. But Neimera was ready to fight. Ready to keep her head focused and move onwards, adapting to the situation. Adapting past her friend's death, if needs be. Whatever it took, she was ready.

Somewhere flying near to the first hovercraft, the second one contained Lucas. He had his head pressed into his palm, leaning against the window. He felt sick. He felt weaker than he intended to let others see. Adrina was on the other hovercraft. A small part of him was irritated that he couldn't talk to her before they got into the Arena. But another part was almost relieved. Sitting in silence made it easier for Lucas to cope. Everything fell to the background.

Nothing else mattered. That was the way he liked it. Himself and himself only.

Vallah, Dominic and Carson were on the same hovercraft, sat in a row next to each other. Vallah prodded Lucas in the stomach, trying to distract herself from where they were headed. When he didn't respond, she turned back to Dominic and let her head fall against his shoulder. She thought of home. She thought of everything she was fighting for and knew, in her heart, she had what it took to make it back. Vallah had walked over other people before. In sports, sure. In school to get the highest grade. It was always done with a laugh and a smile, both parties happy to enjoy the competition, but this was just the same thing on a larger scale.

Although she doubted the person she would be killing would laugh. Or smile. _Fuck this whole thing._

Dominic tried to bring up the atmosphere. For every joke he told, Carson tried to laugh. But his eyes watched Vallah's face contort from emotion to emotion and realised he felt the same way. He was proud. He'd scored high, he'd done more training than he thought anyone outside the Careers had done. But in that time, he'd gotten so used to knowing what to do, the unknown of the Arena terrified him.

At least he had allies. He cared about them, but he hadn't let them in completely. That was the smartest thing to do. As painful as it might be, he'd laid the foundations of a group, but a group he could leave when he had to do the right thing for himself. Attached and detached, both working together at the same time to give him a real chance.

Darina and Prosper were sat together. Prosper chattering away, oblivious to the sour mood that was directed towards him. With every laugh coming from someone that had willingly chosen to kill innocent children, the outer District tributes grew angrier and angrier. Darina was well aware what was going on and kept her head down.

She politely spoke in turn with her ally, knowing it was better to go along with what he had to say, but deep down she knew that in the end, when it came down to it, Prosper was just another tribute to step over. She could play the friend. And in someways, she was the friend. She did care, just not enough. Not enough to sacrifice herself for someone she barely knew.

Maybe because of that, it was why Darina felt like one of the most prepared tributes. Even the Careers had their delusion. She hadn't succumbed to it.

Slowly, the lights dimmed and the hovercrafts descended into darkness. Garner swallowed a lump of fear in his throat, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Fear would do him no favours. Kira looked at him and tried to smile. Garner's was more convincing. He'd learned for a long time how to perfect lies. How to tell a story with his face and emotions. Kira was similar. The two of them were good at pretending they were okay, and in a way, felt like they were slowly growing stronger with each second.

When they were escorted out from the hovercrafts, Kira and Garner nodded at one another as they departed down separate corridors. Together, they were prepared for the near future.

Coming out from the same hovercraft, Alaric tried to find Scyla among the masses. Tributes were pulled apart quickly, taken by Peacekeepers before they had to chance to say anything. A goodbye. A hello. Words of strategy. Alaric kept his mouth shut, knowing there was no point in fighting just yet, and complied with a Peacekeeper that guided him towards a room with his District number on the door.

Scyla thought of her ally when she was pushed through into her own room.

"Yeah, a little bit gentler would be just dandy." She grinned sarcastically at the Peacekeeper that turned to walk away. When she faced the front, she sighed loudly and fell to the ground, bringing her knees up to her chest. Her stylist said nothing. She let Scyla get it all out. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. Scyla simply started intensely at the ground, building up her strength, letting it fall apart, and putting it back together again.

When she stood up, she thought of Alaric once more, nodded at her stylist, and began to get ready.

Dante didn't really care what he was being thrown in. Clothes were clothes. They didn't matter. What mattered was how he fought. His determination. His skill. Ryon and Varity were enough. He liked them, he did, but they pushed his buttons like he was sure he pushed theirs. The stylist pulled the white, baggy woollen top of his head. It made him look poor. Not that that upset him. But they were practically rags.

He had baggy brown pants to go with them and worn black shoes. _Is this meant to protect me? _He supposed he'd have to do that himself. He'd fought most of his life for number one. This was just another fight. Another competition to win.

Eveny didn't say anything about what she was now wearing. At the end of the day, it didn't really matter. She thanked her stylist kindly for helping her and sat back down. Every instinct told her to start crying. She had every right. No one could tell her it wasn't normal to break down knowing where she was headed.

Looking at the plate, however, she couldn't. Even when Eveny was told to get ready, she walked and stood on the silver platform, smiling at her stylist. When the glass tube descended, she simply placed a hand on it and bit her lip when her stylist rose her own, placing it on the other side.

_For my friends. _She looked up at the darkness above. _For my family._

Somewhere on the other side of the complex, Luella balled her fingers into fists, chewed her lip until she tasted blood. This was everything she'd been geared towards. She shouldn't be scared. She should be happy. Excited. Or at least not as nervous as she felt.

Darkness gave way to light, blinding Luella for a momentary second.

She tried her hardest to keep herself under control. All she wanted was for her friends to make it through today. Then they'd take it day by day, going through it together. That was the most important thing. _Together._

The countdown started.

Luella unclenched her fists and stared at her new world.

This was real.

_I'm here._

She wanted to go home.

For them all, Prosper to Acacia, it was too late for that.

The Games were about to begin.

This would be their home.

* * *

_**Who do you want to see fall in the bloodbath?**_

_**Who do you think will fall in the bloodbath?**_

* * *

**Well, that's it everyone. The end of the Capitol!**

**I know I went crazy with updates for the past eight or so chapters, but honestly, that's because I've come to love nearly every single tribute. Probably every single tribute, actually. Next chapter will be hard to write, but I'm also excited at the same time, so hopefully you are as well.**

**I guess I'll give a quick sorry here in time for the bloodbath to those that will lose a tribute. It's nothing personal, I make decisions purely for plot and potential development. If your tribute dies, it's because as much as I liked them, they have no further place in the story. Still, I can't wait!**

**Up next, the Games begin ;o**

**(Because I am updating the same day as the interviews, just so everyone can see the new update, I'll also update tomorrow. There won't be a new chapter, it'll still be this one, I just want to make sure no one misses out the last Capitol chapter. So yeah if you see that don't worry).**


	18. Free the Animal

**Chapter Eighteen.**

* * *

**Bloodbath.**

* * *

They were in place.

The blinding light they'd experienced, transitioning from darkness to inescapable brightness, had faded completely. Above them all, a starless night sky bore nothing but endless emptiness. In the centre, impossibly large, a blood red moon embraced the Arena in a chilling, red light. At least they could see where they were going, a small comfort they appreciated.

All twenty-four noticed they were elevated above the Arena, looking down into a small town. It was nothing special. The houses were clumped close, crumbling, roofs caved in, made up of sticks and stones. They were in a semi-circle, the Cornucopia at the bottom of the sandy ridge the pedestals were stationed in, wedged somehow. To get supplies, they'd have to run down and make it to the bottom, first hopefully. The stragglers could very well die.

As the countdown continued to tick away their last few seconds of peace, they looked around the rest of the Arena. The left side was a small forest, made up of trees with no leaves, nothing but black skeletal limbs scratching the night sky above. On the right, a dark blue body of water stretched into the shadows, marking a barrier that couldn't be crossed.

The biggest mystery however, beyond the ruined village below, a mountain of sand rose higher and higher, mirroring the one they were stationed on, waiting. A clock tower protruded from the centre, jet black, as if it were touching the bloody moon. Instead of a clock face, the centre had been carved out and in its place, an hourglass hung, connected to the top and bottom. The entire top side was filled with sand; sand that had yet to fall.

It would count down something. The tributes took one last look at the Arena, holding a frightened breath, and focused on the golden horn at the bottom of the sand pile. Some allies exchanged a look. Some ignored distraction and concentrated entirely on the near future.

_Ten seconds._

This was it.

_Five seconds._

The tributes were ready, readying their stance to run. Ready to fight for their lives.

_One second._

When the gong sounded, Carson kept his eyes on the hourglass, sparing one last look. The moment the tributes started to move, sand started to filter through to the bottom half. _It's counting down. _He swallowed his fear over the mystery and bolted off his pedestal, staggering down the sand, slipping and sliding towards the Cornucopia.

On his left, Acacia was walking sideways, dragging her legs purposefully towards Neimera who was struggling on her own. She refused to leave her behind. Even if they made it to the bottom last. _I'll improvise. _When Neimera saw her, any fear was quickly replaced with a spark of hope. _Think on our feet. Adapt. _This was no playground, after all. The town looked spooky. The trees something from a horror story. The water could hold anything. And that clock tower. Whatever would happen in the future, as long as Acacia had Neimera, she welcomed the unknown and prepared herself.

As the two girls finally made their way down together, at the very bottom Aurelie dove for the Cornucopia, raking through identical bundles of backpacks for a weapon. Her hand found the shaft of a spear and the handle of a sword. Thinking on her feet, she threw the spear into the mouth of the Cornucopia, one weapon hidden away from other tributes, and gripped onto the handle of the sword.

Red light danced through the darkness, illuminating the oncoming tide of tributes, running down the sand in a hue of blood. There was something chilling about that. Aurelie had prepared for this moment. She'd done everything she could to ease her mind and focus on the ultimate goal, not just the step by step journey.

Her eyes caught sight of Luella and Prosper, hand in hand, beating Belarius, Ivo and Darina by a second. _I could kill them. _One swipe of the sword, Prosper's head would leave his shoulders, Luella would scream, and Aurelie could silence her. But she didn't. There was something inside her, something that stopped her from crossing that line just yet. Allies were allies. As useless as some might be, she had bigger fish to fry. _Smaller, to be fair. _The other tributes were nothing.

On the far right of the sand hill, Rell quickly found Cillian and spotted Eveny on the other side. If she didn't care for her District partner's well-being, she could have easily dove into the action and tried to fight towards her friend by being a total idiot. But she would always care for him, she wanted Cillian to survive just as much as Eveny.

"Where are we going?" He asked. Panic was in his eyes, not in his voice. Rell admired him for his silent bravery. Rell pointed to the houses, half sunken in the dusty earth.

"We'll go round. Reach her that way."

Cillian nodded, wiping his sweaty hands on his pant legs. They made their way into the village.

Fights had already started to break out. Ryon was trying to focus, but tumbling into an unaware Vallah accidentally didn't do any wonders for his courage. They went left and right on the ground. Vallah punched out, scared for her life, hooked him in the nose, and stood up, leaving him there to either fend for himself or die. She had other people to worry about. As bad as she felt, she spotted the Careers grouping up, the girl from Two ready to strike.

Marshall waved at her, still coming down from the pedestals. She moved towards him, locating Dominic and Carson halfway there, both gathering supplies and bagging them up. She threw a backpack over her shoulder and pointed to Marshall.

"Why is he so slow?" Carson tried to smile, but she was right, Marshall had to hurry up.

"Maybe he's scared." Dominic said.

Vallah's heart was beating crazily. Faster and faster by the second. "I'll get him. You two continue getting supplies. Meet us past the Cornucopia, mark a door with berry juice or something."

Vallah left, bolting up for their last ally. At that precise second, Carson looked up, facing towards the Cornucopia. His eyes widened, focusing on something Dominic couldn't see. He launched himself to the left, wincing when he heard a click in his arm, and watched a set of feet run for where they were.

"DOMINIC!" Carson shouted, just in time. His ally turned around, bringing up a backpack to bear the brunt of Aurelie's first attack. Carson had to make a choice. Tributes were starting to pile up, pushing and shoving for supplies. He was swept to the right, then swept back to the left, his mind focused on Dominic and Aurelie.

His ally got one punch in. One punch with a nasty look in his eyes, a determined frown on his face. The Capitol had predicted the outcome already, though. Aurelie had an 11. Dominic a 6. They'd given her that score for a very good reason. The Games were about to truly begin.

She went under his arm, hooking him in the cheek, and impaled him right through the chest with her sword.

Carson bit his tongue to stop himself crying out. Aurelie either didn't see him, or saw something else. With his dead ally by his feet, Carson watched his murderer turn around and run off, heading for another victim.

_I couldn't have done anything. _He had to tell himself that. When he went to take the backpacks from around Dominic's body, the supplies he'd collected together, unwanted tears started to spill down his cheeks. He'd always been so kind to Carson. And Carson had tried, but not hard enough. Not to give him false lies that he really, truly cared.

Because he didn't. Dominic was practically a stranger.

He stepped over Dominic's body and moved for the houses. Vallah and Marshall were behind him somewhere. They'd see his body. Then hopefully they'd find him, waiting in security. There was nothing else he could do.

Revenge was meaningless. There was no point in starting a fight he couldn't win.

Belarius watched Aurelie, bloody sword in hand, move for someone else. His eyes fell on her first victim's still body and he shook the thought away. He didn't know him. They were the Careers. These were the unfortunates taken here against their will. Belarius turned and ordered Luella and Prosper to start piling up supplies near the mouth of the Cornucopia. That would get them out the way for now.

Darina was in the middle of a fight she seemed to be winning. One punch to the face, the girl from Six found her ally from Twelve and they ran off, before Darina could deal a finishing blow. For the time being, Belarius did nothing. He wanted to get in there and prove himself. Prove himself to himself, mainly, but not yet. Ivo distracted him, waving from somewhere across the heads of other tributes, moving for supplies and freedom from death.

As he made his way to Ivo, Darina found a knife under a heap of supplies. She launched herself at the nearest person. Faces had to mean nothing. Without a name to put to whoever this was, she shook her head and did what anyone in her position had to do.

He put up a fight, though. On the ground, he kicked up, his foot meeting her leg. She bit down on her tongue and tried to stab down. He scrambled left, the blade cutting into the ground. Darina persevered, however. Someone was running for her. She refused to let herself be beaten this early on. Bringing her head back, her temple connected with the boy's nose. Pain immediately flared in her skull, but the screech from below her told her all she needed to know. The knife went into his throat.

At that precise moment, another cry went up.

"ALARIC!"

Darina looked down at the body of the boy from Nine. He wasn't dead yet. His arms flailed helplessly, choking on his own blood. He squirmed on the ground, trying to do something, bringing his hand up to the knife. Scyla was by his side, and as he went still, she launched herself at Darina.

_I had to. _She shook her head and punched Scyla, pushing her away in the shoulder.

"You… you killed him." Scyla's voice grew louder and louder. "He was my ally!"

Darina didn't waver, or break. She'd volunteered, knowing this had to weapon. "Ally or not, he had to die. That's the way this works."

Before Scyla could get another attempt on Darina, a sword came slicing through the air. The girl from Ten fell in a pool of blood, crumpling down next to Alaric's body. Her headless body twitched once, and then that was it. Aurelie looked at Darina and shook her head.

"Don't ever stop." She walked off, leaving it at that.

"I didn't." She bit her lip, frowning. "I wouldn't." She had. She couldn't let that happen again. Careers didn't falter.

On the other side of the Cornucopia, Belarius and Ivo each had a weapon in hand. Rather than go on the offensive, they held back, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. Darina and Aurelie were trying to pursue those that hadn't found their alliances, or were still packing up supplies. The pair from One were doing their job, in the background.

At that moment, an alliance of two ran straight past, backpacks over their shoulders. Garner and Kira. Garner was trying to run faster, Kira trying not to cry, or scream, or do anything but focus. She'd never really been in check of her emotions, not properly. Bad days and good days. This was most definitely a bad day.

But she didn't have her comfy bed at home. She couldn't just give up. Belarius and Ivo gave her no choice but to try and fight back. If they just let an easy victim fall through their fingers, whatever reputation and respect they'd gained back in the Capitol could potentially fall to pieces.

Garner turned around at Kira's scream. Belarius pulled back on her hair and twisted her body to face his. Ivo watched over his ally's shoulder, frowning.

"Do I-?"

"No," Belarius frowned, holding onto the squirming girl. "He either runs, or dies."

Garner had to make a choice. Loyalty had never been his thing. Not because he was a bad person, but because it was just how things had always worked. Kira looked at him, hoping for something, but given the choice between his life and someone else's, he'd always known the answer.

Belarius dragged a knife along the girl from Eight's throat the moment Garner turned to run off, disappearing into the village. Belarius didn't look at the result of his actions, placing a hand on Ivo's shoulder and walking back towards the Cornucopia.

The tributes were slowly disbanding, finding their allies and leaving the carnage. Cillian and Rell found Eveny, away from sight, giving them a window of opportunity to flee. Marshall and Vallah spent a second to mourn Dominic's loss, running before Aurelie could return to finish them off.

Prosper and Luella were trying as hard as they could to do what they'd been told to do. They had a part to play for their team.

"Keep your eyes forward," Prosper whispered, clutching onto Luella's hand when she looked up, pale as a sheet, eyes wide. "The noises are nothing to us. All the fighting means nothing. I'm here to protect you."

Those words soon became far too true a minute later. Luella shrieked when one of the outer-District girls started to grab for supplies. Either she hadn't seen Luella and Prosper, crouched on the ground, or her desire for something to leave with got in the way of her thinking clearly. Whatever the reason, Prosper immediately jumped up at the sound of Luella's fear, diving for the girl.

Two boys were behind her, in the shadows. Dante and Ryon watched Varity get pushed to the ground. She put up a good fight, punching Prosper off from her and moving for Luella, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pushing her sideways.

"I think we need to go." Dante said, frowning.

"But-"

"Look, Ryon." Dante pointed to the two of them, then at the rest of the area. "The Careers are regrouping. Those are the District One tributes. We… we can't…"

They had to make a choice. Kira's body wasn't too far. Like Garner had ran for his own life, Dante grabbed Ryon by the arm and dragged him away. Ryon conceded. Fear got the best of him. He had to think for himself. _I'm sorry Varity… I'm sorry…_

The girl from Five left Luella in a bloody mess. Her nose looked broken, blood gushing down her lips and past her chin. She struggled to stand back up, moving for a backpack. She hated herself for getting in this mess in a matter of seconds. She'd only wanted to get supplies. Before it was too late. Varity had always been in control of her own life, she refused to let lack of food or water stop her from surviving. She'd needed those backpacks.

Luella scrambled away on her elbows, further and further from the girl that attacked her. Varity needed to get away. Determination gave way to pure fear, driving her upwards, only for a boot to slam her back down. She twisted on the ground and rolled sideways, away from Prosper and back towards Luella. If she had to kill to get away, she would.

That's what tributes did, after all. They killed. They did bad things so they could survive. A knife was somewhere in the bundle of supplies the pair from One had been gathering up. Varity looked over her shoulder. Aurelie and Darina were moving towards them. Ivo and Belarius lingering in the background, watching.

She had to get out now.

Amongst the corpses, her eyes moved back for the knife and she launched for Luella, grabbing hold of the weapon. In that second, Luella screamed out loud when Varity went still. Blood that wasn't her own doused her front, a spearhead breaking out from the front of Varity's face, coming through from the back of her skull. Her nose, eyes and lips practically exploded outwards in a hail of blood, bone and gore. Luella flopped backwards, crying out loud as Prosper pulled the spear from Varity's head and let it fall from his hands.

_I… I… _He moved for Luella. She jumped up and threw her arms round Prosper's shoulders. Rather than soothing her, Prosper remained silent. _I…. _Varity's shattered head went round and round inside his own mind. _I killed a girl. I actually killed a girl._

Whether it had been to protect Luella or not, he'd actually done it. He'd actually taken a life.

Aurelie looked at Prosper and Luella. The dead girl at their feet shouldn't have been something that made them react in such a way. Aurelie had already taken two lives. She felt something, niggling at the back of her mind, a feeling in her stomach. The bloody sword was testament to her resolve. She'd done what someone in her place had to do.

Darina had killed as well.

She'd seen Belarius, for all his smiles and flippancy, kill a girl and let her fall to his feet, nothing but a nameless victim. They were all doing what had to be done.

Darina joined her side and stared at the two from One. "They'll get over it. They have to."

"They better," Aurelie wiped her sword clean on a patch of dry grass, poking up from the earth. "If they don't, they aren't Careers anymore."

"Prosper killed."

"And look at his reaction." Aurelie's eyes fell on the two of them, hugging, clutched in each other's arms. Luella shook. Prosper's eyes widened, colour drained from his face as he opened his mouth and closed it, no noise coming out.

That was when Aurelie's eyes caught sight of something. The Cornucopia was tall, but it wasn't wide enough to block out everything. Movement caught her eye and on instinct, she ran for the two girls that cradled backpacks in their arms. Either they were idiots, or they had been too scared to make a break for it. Maybe both.

She recognised who they were. The girls she'd scared off back in training. Acacia and the girl from Eleven. They tried to run. They could have made it, if Aurelie hadn't found the spear at the beginning, thrown into the Cornucopia.

She traded her sword for a spear. As they neared the edge of the village, ready to run away and hide, she threw it in the air and watched it impale the girl from Eleven. Acacia screamed as her friend fell in a bloody heap, dead before she hit the ground. Aurelie had only one spear. Before she could find another, the lonely girl ran from sight, bringing an end to the bloodbath.

Belarius and Ivo watched the whole thing unfold. "Do we do it?" Ivo whispered. He was terrified, but that didn't worry him. Fear was real. Fear was a normal, human reaction that he'd learnt to control, rather than let control him.

Belarius watched Darina move for Luella and Prosper. Aurelie followed too, hanging back so she didn't have to get close to what was probably poisonous to her. _She'd rather slit a throat than hug another human being. _Belarius didn't laugh this time. It wasn't funny.

He saw the four of them huddled together and shook his head. "We can't kill her."

"Yeah I kno-"

"But we can go."

Ivo looked at him, surprised. He hadn't expected that. "Go?"

"We missed an opportunity to take her out before they regrouped. Now it's happened and the bloodbath is over, we can leave before the inevitable happens."

Both Belarius and Ivo knew what would eventually happen. How the Career alliance would conclude. It was smart to get out before the implosion, before Aurelie took out everyone and maybe died in the process. Ivo stopped himself shaking. Belarius placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to smile. "If you'd rather stay, I won't stop you."

"Where you go, I go." _For the time being. _Right now, this was the best thing to do. In the future, Ivo knew no matter how close he was to Belarius, he had to die for him to win. Even as they left in secret, moving for the village the long way round, he did his best to stop himself from reacting in a way that wouldn't help.

As long as he was focused on the end game, he knew he had it in him. No one noticed a thing at first. The four Careers at the Cornucopia were huddled close, going through supplies, unaware that two of their party had already left.

They'd taken supplies from the outskirts. Away from the immediate danger, Belarius and Ivo would go about things their way, without Aurelie's threat ruining any chance of coherency in the group. Prosper was fracturing. Luella was way out of her depth. Darina was the only constant, but neither could be sure of her loyalties now. They'd seen her talking to Aurelie.

With the Careers split, things were now harder for those that had escaped the bloodbath. There would be two packs, trained to kill them, hunting them down so they could win.

Allies might have died, friends might have fallen, but those remaining continued to make their way through the Arena. They'd made it past the beginning phase.

With the hourglass in the background, counting down the unknown mystery, the next phase was about to begin.

The Games were just getting started.

* * *

_**Dominic Larson, District Ten Male.**_

_**Alaric Benatti, District Nine Male.**_

_**Scyla Dericen, District Ten Female.**_

_**Kira Vinstra, District Eight Female.**_

_**Varity Sparks, District Five Female.**_

_**Neimera Harlen, District Eleven Female.**_

* * *

**Firstly, a big apology to Munamana, Cloe, Knifey, Fin, Remus and Foxface. I genuinely liked every one of these tributes, but I had to kill some people off and thinking it through, these were the ones that made the most sense for the future of this story. I hope you understand.**

* * *

**So, that's the beginning of the Games!**

**Hopefully I explained the Arena in a way that you can sort of understand. I know I myself struggle to picture Arenas when they're explained in bloodbaths so I tried my best. Hopefully you have at least some idea.  
**

**Again, big sorry to those that lost a tribute! **

**See you with the next chapter! I won't be writing as fast for some time now, I think. Kind of made myself sick of my own writing, so I need that to pass. For the time being, the fast line of updates is over ;/**

**Let me know what you thought!**


	19. Together

**Chapter Nineteen.**

* * *

"Where are the boys?"

Aurelie looked at Darina. Behind them, it was nothing but sand rising up, marking where they'd started. Belarius and Ivo were nowhere to be seen.

"Well, Prosper's over there," Darina pointed to the Cornucopia.

"I meant the two that matter." Aurelie glanced over at her allies from One, both sat cross-legged on the ground, doing nothing. "Or at least matter more."

Darina didn't like the way Aurelie spoke of her allies. Maybe they were nothing more than tributes in the way, but so what? Belarius had killed. Surely, in her mind, that was enough to warrant respect? And then there was Ivo. The bond between District partners meant something to Darina. They might not have grown as close as some of their allies had, but Darina still didn't want to see him go just yet.

Aurelie, on the other hand, marched towards Luella and Prosper and glared down at them. "Have either of you seen Belarius and Ivo?"

"I-" Luella tried to speak, only for her voice to waver and fall to an anguished silence. Prosper was as pale as he had been since killing the girl from Five. If they were anywhere but the Arena, maybe Aurelie could have felt bad for him. This wasn't. She felt angry that someone like him had decided to volunteer, knowing he had to kill, and now couldn't face it. Aurelie wasn't happy with what she'd done. But she wasn't upset. She wasn't about to fall apart. The bloodbath had been the first hurdle of many.

"Aren't they with you?" Prosper finally spoke up, his voice barely above a fading whisper. "Last I saw them, Belarius told us to… to sort out supplies." _It's his fault. _Prosper was shaking. For all the stories he'd read about, as a young child, this wasn't one of them. Heroes and honour. And then entering his teenage years, the way the Victors and other trainees spoke of the Games. He was supposed to be the hero. His allies, this Career pack, they were the heroes. _I don't feel like a hero. What kind of hero splits the skull of a girl that didn't choose to be here? _

A Career. That was the answer. Prosper wanted to get over it, because now that he'd killed, he realised what was at stake. His life. He'd always known, of course. But now he'd actually seen death, the bodies rotting around him, Varity's far too real near to the Cornucopia, Prosper wasn't ready to join them. But he did nothing except stare up at Aurelie, lost for words.

"Maybe they're chasing after a tribute. They could be on their way back right now." Darina stepped up to join her furious ally. She tried to place a hand on her shoulder. The second she'd made that decision, just before contact, she knew it was a mistake. Aurelie shrugged it off and turned to face her.

"They've gone."

"Gone?" _Would they really do that? My own District partner? _"They wouldn't… I mean- would they?"

"Didn't think he had the balls," Aurelie grunted, then smirked, then frowned. "How fucking dare they."

Aurelie was more upset she'd been left with the two from One than the idea that Belarius and Ivo had walked away. She didn't require protection from the other tributes, but she wasn't prepared to turn her journey to victory into a few nights of babysitting two Careers that had no idea how the world really worked.

She looked back at Prosper and Luella and then pointed to the girl from Five's body. "Move her. We're clearing out this area so the Capitol can collect the bodies, then we're going to gather up the supplies." When they didn't move, she barked the order again and watched them squirm away. "Darina, we need to start thinking up our next move. They've left us, meaning they're nothing more than other tributes that we need to kill. But we aren't going to be stupid enough to fall into a trap, either. They might be expecting us to chase after them."

"That doesn't sound like Belarius." Darina frowned. "Or Ivo."

Of course, what did she really know of them? They'd known each other a week. A week was nothing compared to the years they'd trained, preparing for this moment. Strategies, skills, everything had been crafted together for the Games. Darina's perception of her allies was nothing more than a slither of their true selves. That was something Aurelie didn't understand. Prosper and Luella were nothing more than weaklings, in her eyes. She didn't stop to think that maybe, maybe they actually knew what they were doing, in some far off way that was hidden underneath kindness and delusion of their purpose in the Games.

Prosper had already proven himself. For all his talk of protecting his friends, he'd done just that. Varity had tried to kill Luella. Varity was now a dead tribute.

When Aurelie ignored Darina and walked to the Cornucopia, she watched her yell at Luella who had fallen back, trying to grab Varity's legs and given up. She dragged the body herself, leaving a smear of blood on the ground with each step, flecks of white skull mingled into the grisly trail.

She walked up to Luella and made the same move she'd made on Aurelie. Luella rested her chin against Darina's hand, on her shoulder, and closed her eyes. She was shaking so furiously, Darina was surprised she hadn't fainted.

"It'll be okay," Darina lied, gritting her teeth. She wasn't prepared to die for this girl, but she wasn't prepared to let Aurelie tear apart this alliance just yet. Not when it already had been by two people that had shown such unity. "Come on, let's help Prosper pile up the supplies and then we'll get something to eat."

"He killed for me," Luella looked up at Darina, from the ground, blinking back fresh tears that lit up her eyelashes. "Prosper killed a girl because I was too weak to kill her myself. He's breaking because of me."

"Prosper's strong, he'll pull himself together. If not for himself, for you. He cares about you. He cares about me. He even cares about Aurelie. I wouldn't worry." Darina squeezed her shoulder, helping her up. "We can't focus on what's happened, we need to use our past and push ourselves forward."

"But Belarius… Ivo…-"

"Are gone," Darina said, frowning. "They made their choice, now we need to make ours. Our next move will decide our future. We can't waste it."

Luella nodded and let Darina help her over to Prosper. He offered the pair of them a weak smile and continued to throw backpacks into a pile. Darina started to move weapons together, leaving Luella to compile the other individual, smaller items. Aurelie soon joined them, and with that, the four of them were nearly ready for the next phase.

They had to make a plan. Their second move would be an important decision. Prosper wanted to do whatever his allies wanted. Luella couldn't think straight, she kept thinking of Prosper, about how weak she was, about how she was hurting a friend because she couldn't defend herself. Darina knew what Aurelie wanted, she wanted dead tributes, and for that they had to hunt.

For the time being, Darina wanted to see Belarius and Ivo. She wanted to see the two allies that had understood Aurelie and were strong enough to leave before the inevitable future happened. That was why they'd done it, after all. Darina wasn't blinded by a sense of loyalty that didn't exist. _But I'm not weak, either. I'm not here because I'm not strong enough to leave. _

She looked at Prosper and Luella. Maybe it was loyalty that kept her here. If Darina left, Aurelie would kill Prosper and Luella without blinking. They needed the reality check of the Games, but that didn't mean Darina was willing, right now, to simply walk away with a guilty conscience, letting it consume her as two of her allies were slaughtered.

She wasn't weak. She'd prove her strength by staying with the Careers, and together, with her allies, they'd make their mark in the Arena.

This would be the beginning of their story.

The Careers were still functioning.

They would always have a role to play.

* * *

Garner made his way through the labyrinth of houses.

Most of the doors were rotted, swaying in the night-time breeze, their hinges tinged with red flecks of rust. He peered into one, the roof caved into the centre, leaving the entire inside in chaos. He continued on, his head focused on the way forwards, not what he'd left behind.

_Kira. _He'd left his ally to die. But what could he have done? Maybe some tributes, loyal to the concept of allies and not their own survival, would have thrown themselves into the arms of two Careers for the sake of their friend. Garner wasn't like that.

If he'd have tried to help Kira, he would have died with her. There was a difference between rescuing an ally, knowing you had a chance, and simply laying down your life for that sense of loyalty, just to make yourself feel good as you both died. Belarius and Ivo had trained all their lives. Garner hadn't. He'd made the right decision.

_So why do I feel so shit? _He grumbled under his breath, kicking a lone rock away, watching it roll into the shadows. Kira had been friendly. She'd been everything Garner had been to the people he'd decided to try with. And now she was dead, there was no more of that pretence. No more trying for the sake of trying. Being by himself meant that he had no one to worry about but his own chances of survival.

Instead of wallowing in the past and the actions that couldn't be changed, Garner focused on the future and the way forwards, continuing his walk through the desolate village. In the section he'd found himself in, one of the many small neighbourhoods in this frightening village, there was a well implanted in the centre. He cautiously made his way forwards, prepared for a trap.

If there was water, he'd treasure this discovery. But if there was water, a much sought after supply in the Arena, there could be other tributes nearby. Or a Gamemaker trap, ready to spring from its depths.

He peered over the edge, knife in his hand, and saw that it was empty. The bucket attached to the rope, tied to a crank, was teetering over the edge. Drops of water were splashed down the concrete, the last few teasing him, dripping onto the dusty ground at his feet.

_Fuck you too. _Of course, he'd found a source for water, and there'd be nothing left but this, tormenting him when he'd only just entered the Arena. When he hit the bucket off with his hand, watching it roll along the ground, he saw another house with an open door. Curiosity got the best of Garner. The day might have only just started, despite it looking like eternal night-time. When his body clock decided to go alongside this constant darkness, he'd need somewhere to sleep. One of the houses was his best bet.

The floor on the inside was covered in dust, cobwebs in the rafters, dust motes swirling in the air and around his head. The furniture was coated in a blanket of ash from the fireplace, the flames long gone, the wood charred to a crisp. As he made his way into the house, his heart continued to beat faster and faster. Garner decided it was the adrenaline leaving his body, the nerves and fear slowly eating away at him.

It was a natural reaction. Anyone would feel this way. The next room he found was a dining area, the central table set for a dinner that hadn't been eaten. Garner cringed and covered his nose at the smell. The food was mouldy, the meat surrounded by flies that quickly left their feast the second Garner peered at the table.

The well. The house. The food. He saw a cramped bed in the corner, a mattress with the sheet that had been folded back, as if someone were about to sleep. If this weren't an Arena, Garner would have seen this as District home that had been abandoned in its destitution. It was as if there had been people here, but they'd gone. The area suspended in time.

A bed was a bed, however. He knew Kira would have loved it. At her memory, he smiled, then frowned, then felt something in his eye that made his heart beat faster. _No. _That would not be future Garner. He had to win the Games. He couldn't do that if he reminisced over an ally. An ally. Kira had been nothing more than that. _She wasn't my friend._

When he sat down, he gazed around the room and at the doorway, where the furniture had seemed so homely, only for it to be abandoned. Maybe it was designed to scare him, but Garner had an even worse feeling than dread and fear chewing into his courage. _Someone had been living here. _He peered up at the window, opposite him, the red glow of the bloody moon lighting up a corner of the room he was in. _And now they're gone._

The question was, where?

Either they didn't exist, or they did, and this Arena had more secrets to be uncovered.

The thought didn't help Garner relax. It did the total opposite.

* * *

Lucas glared at the back of Adrina's head. "Could you walk a bit quieter?"

_She'll give our location away if she keeps that up. _Whether or not she was scared, her levels of adrenaline wearing down to give way to the truth about what they'd just escaped from, that didn't mean she could fuck this up so early.

Adrina turned to face him, smirking. Her eye was swollen, lip split with blood still trickling down her chin. "I'm sorry. Should I stop breathing? Maybe I'll tell my heart to calm down, I'm sure it'll listen."

"Don't talk to me like that," Lucas grumbled. He wasn't angry with her. He wasn't even really angry. He was just as terrified. Only, he didn't want to admit it, because if he admitted it, then he'd give in to the fact he wasn't prepared. He'd thought through so much in training, and now he was here, it was like his mind had emptied of all its knowledge.

He was just like everyone else that had done less than him, when he'd relished in their failures. Lucas had been smart back then, knowing that the most tribute-like thing to do was gain an advantage. Now, he wondered if he still had that anymore. The bloodbath had been a game of luck, really. Thankfully, those that had taken lives had gone after different people. It could very well have been him instead.

He hated how random the Games could be. He wanted his control back. His life was his life, he wanted to be able to fight for it without having to worry about not having that chance. As small a chance as it might be.

"Look, let's just find somewhere to rest for a bit," Adrina turned back, pausing. The truth was, she was feeling the exact same way as Lucas. The fact that she was alive based on sheer luck unsettled her much more than it made her thankful that she hadn't died. Darina hadn't had a weapon when she'd hit her in the face. If she had have had a knife, rather than a fist and a split lip, she'd been nothing more than another dead tribute.

_Dammit. Dammit. DAMMIT. _"Fuck this," she turned back to face Lucas, throwing her hands down. "I don't know where the fuck we should go. You decide. You asked me first to be your ally."

"Well, technically-"

"Lucas. You lead. I don't want to be in charge." The day had really only just started and Adrina wanted nothing more than to simply fall asleep and never wake up. Not in that way. Whether this was a shitty dark village or a land made from candy, she wasn't about to die. But she didn't want to be here either. None of this was fair.

Lucas, on the other hand, was prepared to lead if Adrina didn't want to. Whatever he felt on the inside had to remain on the inside. If he let it control him in the Arena, he'd be another dead tribute. Hope was a hard thing to come by, but there was more chance of him having hope in surviving, if he didn't fall apart straight after the beginning of the Games. That wouldn't leave the greatest impression. He'd become nothing more than another weak tribute, forgotten amongst those that had died before him, and would die after him.

The part of the Arena they were in was nearer to the forest than the body of water. They could make their way further into the network of buildings, or because they were further out, maybe it would be wiser to distance themselves and focus on surviving than fighting. Lucas knew that the Gamemakers wouldn't stand for them to stay away from everything. But if he took the opportunity to explore another part of the Arena that no-one had yet uncovered, maybe that would be enough.

"We'll go there," he pointed to the first tree of the forest, one of its branches winding into the house and back out the front window. He tried to ignore that it had no leaves. And that the end looked like claws, raking the wind, gesturing him forwards. If he focused on that, he'd have nowhere to go. _If I could just sit here and let the world drift by, I would. _But he couldn't. Because if he did that, he was dead.

Lucas was not about to die.

Adrina felt her heart plummet when he pointed to the forest. She wanted Lucas to lead because she couldn't do it herself. Adrina could barely cope with the pressures of ensuring she survived, adding Lucas' life on top of that would suffocate her before she even had the chance to fight for the two of them. The forest looked about as inviting as a feast set by the President, but Lucas had a good head on his shoulders. Adrina respected him, even if she rarely showed it.

"Fine. We'll go there. Do we have matches or something, it could be quite dark."

Lucas shrugged and started to go through his backpack, rummaging through the few bottles of water they'd managed to snag, and the dry crackers and bits of fruit they'd have as food for the first couple of days. When his eyes fell on a flashlight, he couldn't stop himself from smiling and pulling it out, brandishing it like a sword. "Aha! This is much better than matches."

"Be proud of yourself," Adrina smirked, snatching it from him. She pressed the button. When nothing happened, Adrina had half a mind to scream. Or cry. Or do anything else except the thing she did do. When the first laugh left her lips, Lucas took a step back, worrying his ally had suddenly gone insane. It wouldn't surprise him. He had chosen her for her competence, but like he was struggling with the reality of the actual Games having started, Adrina seemed to be cracking as well.

She let it fall through her fingers, landing with a thump on the ground. "Fucking Gamemakers. They pull the best pranks. If there aren't batteries in that bag of yours, my idea of matches might be the better one." She kicked the flashlight towards Lucas' feet. "Bastards left it empty."

_Oh. _He looked at the forest. At the very front, there seemed to be a wall of complete darkness, blocking off whatever they would soon step into. Lucas couldn't decide if it was the best decision he could possibly make on the spot, or the worst. And if it was the worst, Lucas knew his pride wouldn't break enough for him to concede and change his mind. Adrina might then want to take charge again. This wasn't a petty power struggle, but he wanted the responsibility and control of his own life. He didn't want Adrina to make all the calls.

"I'll keep it. Maybe the forest will have some."

Adrina laughed again. "Yeah, I'm sure a friendly squirrel might have two at hand for us."

"You don't always have to joke around," Lucas said, picking up the flashlight and storing it back into their bundle of supplies. "The Games need to be taken seriously."

"Believe me, Lucas. I'm taking them seriously. If I take them as seriously as you, however, I'll shrivel up and die. I need this." She walked past, clapped him on the shoulder and placed a box of matches she'd found in her own backpack, tucked away at the bottom. "Light one and lead the way. We've got a forest to say hi to."

He struck a match, held the flame in front, and led Adrina towards the outskirts of the unknown. Whatever was within, they'd go through together. The rest of the tributes were in the village, amongst the houses, hiding in the shadows. It was either go against them, or give into curiosity and show another part of the Arena for those at home.

He hoped he'd made the right choice.

_I better have. _Lucas gulped and took the first step.

Into the forest they went.

* * *

Vallah grabbed hold of Marshall's collar at the last moment.

He almost protested, stopped by Carson slapping a hand round his mouth, nodding at the corner of the house they were hiding behind. Vallah dragged him back and shook her head. At that precise second, hiding in the shadows away from the centre of this part of the village, Belarius and Ivo walked past, side by side.

When they left without seeing either of the alliance, Marshall let out a breath and a low whistle. "Thanks guys, I should have been paying attention." He looked at Vallah's frown and Carson's exasperated expression and the grin fell from his lips. "What? I'm sorry, I know I should be trying to focus more-"

"Back at the bloodbath, you were taking forever to get down. If you had hurried, maybe…" Vallah bowed her head, shaking it with grief for their ally. Marshall frowned. He hadn't meant to cost them an ally this early. And especially Dominic. He would have been useful, in the future. Marshall felt upset, sure. Dominic had been a happy boy, a boy with his two sisters, a boy with hopes and dreams and all that nonsense which every tribute, including Marshall, held dear to their determination to survive. He felt bad he had died already, but unlike Vallah and Carson, he was trying to move on from it.

He'd been slow because he'd been scared. There was nothing else to it. In the heat of the moment, something had slapped into Marshall's face, burrowing into everything that had driven the other tributes forward, and made him a burden on their alliance. He was ready to get over it and look to the future. Vallah and Carson were still around. But if they started to turn against him… _Fuck._

Marshall tilted Vallah's chin back up, trying to smile sadly at her, to share her grief and to show that the sorrow and guilt was weighing him down.

"I tried… I wanted to move faster, but I just saw everyone running, everyone that we'd been training around, who had been laughing with their allies and forgetting their worries, and I just realised how they were all moving to get weapons, to fight and to kill and that some of them would die. Kids. Random kids that hadn't done anything wrong before this."

Marshall looked at Carson, hoping he saw him the same way Vallah was. Vallah felt bad for Marshall. What he must be feeling, knowing Dominic was dead, it was something she wanted to help him with. It was their duty, as friends, to look out for one another.

"He's dead because of me…" Marshall trailed off, looking at the ground with a heavy heart. Carson placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head forcefully, pushing a smile onto his face for the sake of Marshall's wellbeing. He didn't blame Marshall. Neither did Vallah. In the heat of the moment, people reacted differently. Vallah had taken the role of leader and gotten him out alive, the main reason why Marshall had found an alliance in the first place: for protection. And Carson had watched Dominic die, but found them soon after the bloodbath.

They were still together. They had to focus on the fact that three out of four of them were alive. If they focused on the dead, they'd soon join him. Neither Marshall, Vallah, nor Carson, were prepared for that.

Marshall let Vallah pull him in for a hug. Carson patted him on the back, then grinned up at Vallah. She wasn't taking the motherly role, more she was trying to lighten the mood than let people wallow in the unchangeable. Vallah was focusing on ensuring she got the most out of her team, as friends, and helped them survive together. Until together didn't exist anymore, and she had to make a decision.

With that behind them, Vallah pushed open the door of the house they were in and moved for the table in the centre. They'd cleared it out minutes ago before hearing a noise outside. _Curious that two of the Careers aren't with the rest. _Rotting food was in heaps near the chairs that they sat around. Carson brought his backpack up and planted it between them all, bringing out slices of bread and cuts of cheese.

"I think we shouldn't pig out this early," Vallah said. As tempting as it was, as much as the bloodbath had sucked all the energy from her, it wasn't wise to gorge out on their supplies and leave them nothing in a few days' time. "Let's just have some bread each or something."

"Sounds good to me," Marshall tore of a chunk, swallowing it whole and smacking his lips together. "This early in the Games and I'm already starving."

"That's why we have to save it," Carson smiled, eating his own portion of their food. He was looking ahead, just as much as his allies were. Marshall wanted to build bridges so his allies, like Vallah had at the bloodbath, would protect him when he couldn't protect himself. Vallah wanted the same sense of friendship she'd had at home, but with the knowledge that soon enough she'd have to fend for herself. She wanted to savour the idea of normal for as long as it could exist.

Carson, he thought along the same lines. He'd done so much over training, never knowing when to stop, because if he just gave up and moved on, then he'd have died knowing he could have tried harder. The more he pushed himself, the more he thought he'd get out of his time here. Now, with his allies, they could survive together.

Together meant a great deal to all three of them, each with their own idea of how connected they were to one another. But as long as they did have their alliance, they could try to continue on as normal, letting Dominic's memory and determination to win for himself and his sisters, drive them on for the sake of a pleasant, cheerful boy that had died before his time.

That was how they had to honour his memory, not by grieving, but by fighting.

Once they'd finished up their meal for today, Vallah looked around the room they had taken shelter in. Most of the houses that weren't falling apart completely seemed like this, with interiors that were abandoned, as if someone had been living in them and then disappeared. Carson had the same idea. Marshall didn't really care for his surroundings compared to the two people in front of him.

The Arena was just an Arena. It was the tributes inside that effected things, that controlled the tide and swept away others vying for survival. He had two strong members. He was in a good place.

As the three of them slowly became adjusted to their new home for the time being, a noise made Vallah jump up from her seat. At her reaction, Carson and Marshall immediately raised their fists, ready and waiting for whatever their ally had thought she'd heard.

The door was opening. It made a creaking noise, the ruined hinges doing nothing to help support it properly as it swayed and dragged along the wooden floorboards as someone tried to get inside. Vallah was on her feet.

When the door finally opened, she almost lunged, stopping herself at the last second. Acacia Grey, the District Twelve girl, shrieked when she laid eyes on the three tributes before her and almost turned to flee. Vallah shouted out just in time, stopping her before she got away.

_What am I doing? _Acacia was a little girl. She wasn't strong. She didn't have a weapon. The tears in her eyes, the panic in her face, none of it made Vallah see her as anything but a poor girl, taken into a world that she didn't deserve to be forced into. _But aren't we all in that position. _Some of them were just older, some of them were just stronger. It wasn't Acacia's fault she was out of her depth.

"You can come in, if you like." Vallah smiled. "We won't hurt you."

Carson nodded when the small girl's eyes fell on his. Marshall did the same. But unlike Vallah, who was motivated purely because she couldn't hurt such a young girl, and Carson who went along with Vallah, Marshall didn't understand. She was everything Vallah had been thinking, but in Marshall's mind, that only meant they should cast her out as quickly as possible.

She was more of a burden than Marshall had been earlier, dragging his feet through the sand, stricken by the fear of their new reality. Acacia wouldn't protect anyone in a fight. She might run. She might end up letting someone die because in the moment, knowing she couldn't do anything, she'd use her little legs to squirm her way out of a desperate situation. The person who could have been protected by Vallah, only to be near to Acacia, might be Marshall.

But he couldn't say anything. He was doing what had to be done by acting the true, guilty friend of this alliance that had cost the life of Dominic. He did feel bad but not in the same way he knew the others thought he did. If they were at fault, it might have eaten them up, leaving them nothing but hollow shells of their former selves.

Marshall was guilty because he was human, he knew that Dominic shouldn't have died so early and he was to blame. But he was moving on. Moving on for the sake of himself.

Acacia took a seat and glanced around at the house they were in, then at Vallah once more. "I can leave if you want me to… I… I don't want to get in the-"

"You don't have to go anywhere." Vallah sat down next to Acacia, smiling like a big sister might do. "I'm sorry about what happened to your ally."

It didn't take a genius to work it out. Carson thought of Neimera and turned to face the wall, closing his eyes and balling his hands into fists. Except for Vallah and partly Marshall, Neimera had meant a great deal to him. Acacia's loneliness could only mean one thing.

Hopefully she was at peace, somewhere away from the cruel world that had decided to hurt her.

"I miss her. I'll always miss her," Acacia bit her lip and then met Vallah's eyes. "I know she'd want me to keep going. And that's what I want to do. I want to fight for her and for myself."

"That's admirable," Marshall spoke up, knowing it would be wise to show the same affection Vallah was displaying. Or at least the same respect for a grieving, young girl caught up in a world that she wasn't a real player in. "We lost someone too."

"I'm sorry."

"I think, Acacia, if it's alright with you, you could join us." Vallah spared a second to look for confirmation from both Carson and Marshall. Marshall nodded. Carson, thinking of Neimera, nodded for the sake of his District partner's grieving young friend.

"I'd love to." She wrapped her arms round Vallah's midsection. "I'll do my best to contribute. I won't drag you down, I'll fight and help you and I'll do-"

"I know you will."

Acacia had lost her ally.

Vallah didn't see her as competition, or someone to worry about. She only saw a lost little girl who was trying to make things better, burying the truth so she could smile and make it another day. For someone like her, it was admirable. Vallah respected a girl that could fight, physically or through her emotions.

They had a new ally.

It might have been the thirteen year old from District Twelve, but it was still an ally.

Marshall, Vallah, Carson and Acacia.

That was their new team.

The four of them, fighting together.

In memory of Dominic and Neimera.

* * *

**Apparently I'm not sick of my writing just yet. Here's another fast update!**

**The first few chapters straight after the bloodbath aren't the most exciting. They show the tributes settling into the Arena, getting used to their new surroundings, and showcasing some of the environment they've now entered.**

**Arenas aren't my forte, I try to develop tributes more than I do a massive Arena filled with complexity that if I tried to write, would probably overwhelm what I want to do for the tributes.**

**Those that weren't shown here will show up soon enough! I can't really say when the first death might happen, or how long I want this to be. If anyone's read my other stories, the Games will probably be around twelve or so chapters.**

**Oh, and as you can see, I'm eliminating the POV format for a more general third person view of the tributes in the Arena. That means each POV won't be limited by just one person's thoughts, but more going between each tributes' within an alliance, or the loner's when they appear. It's a lot easier to write, actually. Hopefully you don't mind that!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	20. Dressed in Fear

**Chapter Twenty.**

* * *

The Games had given Belarius one good thing.

Focus.

_And Ivo. _He was a good friend. A great friend. Paired with his new way of perceiving the world, Belarius was ready to make things happen for himself and the person closest to him. This hellish Arena would not defeat either of them, until the moment had to come where they needed to make a terrible decision.

Ivo felt something similar. Belarius might have been the louder, friendlier and everything-else-er that Ivo wasn't, but he understood his ally. He didn't expect much because Ivo would always give it his all. Both were stubborn to a fault, but that helped the pair of them. They mainly had the same idea. They agreed on everything. They knew what had to be done for the good of not just their alliance, but themselves.

Their plan, this new plan, was the first great idea to come from the Games.

And the first terrifying one.

"So we cover each house, take out whatever burns and pile it together?" Belarius looked at Ivo. It had been Ivo's idea. From somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd swallowed down the way he'd seen his other allies, back near the Cornucopia, and suggested the best way to take them out. This was it. "I'll take the houses over here, then. You take them closer to the ambush point."

They'd canvased the central section of the village. The other tributes had been smart enough to run as far away as they could, before the Careers could get anywhere near them. Both Ivo and Belarius were resolved now not just to take down their allies, but also the other tributes. They didn't want to. But they had to. There was a big difference between want and need.

Ivo nodded and moved for his section, near the larger clearing between a ring of houses. These buildings were smaller, easier to climb onto for a vantage point. It was the perfect place to launch a surprise on the four Careers. First, it was getting them here. Unsettled and unfocused.

He moved into the house and started to drag bits of furniture, ignoring the smell that settled over him in another coat, over his clothes. The wooden chairs and tables piled up between each house, growing larger and larger. They would form a sort of maze within a maze. Put obstacles between the gaps and force the Careers this way.

Ivo wasn't an idiot. He knew they'd work it out as a trap. But to force them forwards anyway, they would set alight the blockades and drive them on towards an attack. It was inhumane. It was treating them like animals in a burning cage. But Ivo had to detach himself from how he felt and do things for the good of himself. Belarius was thinking along the same lines of Ivo. They were both just as distracted by the idea of hurting Prosper, Luella and Darina. Even Aurelie. She was the reason they'd left their allies behind, but still a girl. A teenage girl that was troubled beyond repair and didn't deserve to die, despite what she might have done.

Ivo bowed his head and persevered. He was growing up. He was realising he couldn't try to see the good in people when he had to think for himself. Belarius was going along the same lines as him. He pulled a chair, and through its disrepair, easily snapped it in two and threw it into the pile. Their plan wouldn't work straight away, but it would the second they reached this part of the village.

As long as the two of them focused, they had the upper hand. From opposite sides of the middle section of the buildings, Ivo and Belarius continued on with their work. In another time and another place, their friendship would have carried on and grown stronger. With every piece of furniture Ivo piled together for their plan, he thought about how Belarius had to die and felt pieces of himself falling apart.

Unlike so many people, he didn't bottle down negative thoughts in regard to his friend because he had none. He wasn't jealous. He wasn't anything but proud of what they'd achieved already and what they would have to achieve together.

The two carried on with their work.

As long as they focused on the end-game here, both could retain a sense of their own humanity. They had to remember what they were doing it for. Themselves and each other. No one else mattered. Everything else were distractions.

They persevered, ready for the future.

Scared for the future.

But determined, no matter what.

* * *

They were lucky.

Rell looked at Cillian and thought back on what could have happened. What could have easily been his, or her, or Eveny's fate.

"You don't need to worry about her."

Eveny was off scouting ahead. She'd wanted to do something. Who were Rell and Cillian to say no? Besides, it would help the wellbeing of all three if they knew what was coming up ahead. Cillian wanted to stay by Rell's side, protective in his charming, friendly, composed way. Rell wouldn't just leave him behind.

Eveny had taken the role, and now, with the two of them side by side, they continued onwards through the right side of the Arena. The water wasn't too far out. Black as the sky above them, it stretched for what seemed miles and miles, a never-ending body of water. Rell couldn't swim. Cillian couldn't either. Hopefully it was just part of the chilling scenery, nothing more.

"We need to find somewhere for the night," Cillian paused to look out at the junction they found themselves on. "The houses here are all destroyed." Some part of Cillian felt like if he didn't find a place soon, he might fall over and cry. He wanted the best for Rell and Eveny. He wanted them to be safe, but he wanted to be safe too and being so out in the open was hurting him more than he cared to admit.

Rell could see the strain in his face and nodded, taking a moment to look out and focus on their next decision. She was just as eager to find somewhere to settle down as he was. All this walking was tiring, and more often than not, it only seemed like they were going round in circles and that angered Rell. She didn't like this. She hated it, the whole idea of not knowing where she was headed, what could be round each corner, waiting to spring an attack on the people she cared for and herself.

She'd fight anything and anyone for the good of her alliance. As long as she had two fists, two legs and a willing determination to make something of herself, nothing would get the best of those she cared about.

"We could keep going straight. Chances are, no one's made it this far out."

Cillian nodded. "We were smart back there. We didn't let anyone get the jump on us." He tried to smile at Rell, betraying the fear layered within, striking at his core. His lips twitched and Rell stepped forwards, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"There's nothing wrong with saying you're not okay."

Cillian failed to meet her eyes. "If I say that then it becomes all too real and I might… I might let you down."

"As if."

"But Rell…"

She shook her head. "No buts. You get your shit together and be the Cillian that I saw in the Capitol. We're strong together, alright? And when it happens, we'll be strong apart."

"Apart?" His eyes widened, even though he knew the truth of their new world. "I don't think I could-"

"Yes you can. I'm not going to kill you. But I'm not going to see you die either. When it happens… it happens. We have to learn how to-"

Something moved up ahead. Rell saw it in her peripheral vision, not too far off from where they'd been planning on venturing next. A house door moved but nothing came out. Rell took a deep breath and clutched tight onto Cillian's hand, cutting the circulation. Rell was willing to fight for him, just as much as he was willing to fight for her.

There was movement in the shadows. Before either could shout out or protect themselves, someone jumped out and tackled the two apart, pushing Cillian into the ground. He rolled backwards, coughing and spluttering, clutching his chest when someone sent a fist towards his ribs. "Get… get off…" He sent a punch upwards and caught his attacker in the cheek.

Rell was on him in seconds. She didn't care who he was or why he was doing this, Cillian was her friend and if someone wanted to hurt him, they'd have to go through her first. Even then, she wouldn't let them hurt him. Rell hooked him in the jaw, then punched him in the nose, blood splattering forwards along with a pained shout that pierced the terrible silence around them.

He gathered his senses together and drove forwards. It was dark, the red of the moon illuminating the sidelines, but not the fight Rell was encased in. She couldn't see her attacker or Cillian, only their outlines. The larger person in front pushed into her shoulders and kicked out, hitting her in the knee. She shouted out with pain and tried to scramble away from him. He was on her quickly. Grabbing a fistful of hair, he brought her head back, and before Rell could cry out, slammed it forwards.

Stars exploded in her eyes, a trickle of warmth bubbling down from her split lip and over her chin. Before he could get another attack in, someone jumped the person that had jumped them. It wasn't Cillian, coming to her aid.

They entered the red light in front of one of the houses. Rell and Cillian watched Eveny gasp and settle her eyes on Garner. At that moment, his eyes went wide, the colour in his skin draining as he realised who he had attacked.

"I…I…"

Eveny looked over her shoulders. The boy before him was her District partner. He was part of where she'd been born, the place that been her home. Apart from Eveny, he was someone that could bring her family and friends much needed help if he returned. But the people behind her. They were the ones that had chosen to accept Eveny's kindness and warmth with open arms.

They were her friends.

He was not.

"I don't care what you have to say," Eveny snapped. "You hurt my allies. My friends… Garner, that isn't you." _But what do I really know, he shut me off, cast me aside far too quickly._

He looked hurt. Bruises would soon form around his eyes and nose, where Rell had gotten a few shots in, desperate to protect Cillian. Eveny frowned and nearly started to cry when she saw Rell, face twisted with pain from where Garner had nearly killed her. He had done this. It was his fault. Eveny only wanted to help them, like they wanted to help her. They were a team and he'd nearly destroyed that, so close to the beginning of the Games.

"Kira's dead."

Eveny bowed her head. "I'm sorry." Then she met his eyes again and her gaze intensified. "I'm sorry for what happened to your friend, but these are my friends. Garner, you said no. You said no before you got to know me and I… I understand."

She took another step. "But these are my friends. And they said yes. You touch them again, I'll…" She gulped, almost on the brink of crying, but thinking back to the promises she'd made, to everything that had driven her to this point. She wanted to win. She wanted to survive. "I'll kill you. I'll do whatever it takes."

Garner stood up, sent one last agonized look over his shoulder in Eveny's direction, and disappeared back where he'd come from.

Eveny was quickly wrapped up in Rell and Cillian's arms, reminiscent of the hug they'd shared after the interviews. Together, they would always have each other' backs. Rell and Cillian were dazed, minutes ago in peace, now injured through a fighter that had jumped out at them.

Eveny led them to a house she'd found up ahead. They settled in on the three beds she'd made and started to eat their last meal of the day. Time had gone so quick, the hourglass not helping them in their effort to focus on the present, rather than the future. They had to take everything as it came and not think about what could happen.

"Thank you," Rell said, squeezing Eveny's hand.

Cillian did the same, then looked at his District partner.

It had always seemed, maybe in Eveny's eyes, that their District bond would make it impossible for Eveny to share the same level of trust that they so obviously were united with. But now, she knew that together, they valued one another on equal levels. She had no reason to mistrust them. Or mistrust what could happen, if they had to make a choice.

For now, they were at peace.

They didn't have to worry.

* * *

The Careers had been so close to functioning. Closer than most years. Closer than the groups that had been torn apart even before the Games.

But now, without Ivo and Belarius, and the reality of the Games like a blow to their deluded arrogance, they were just like every other group. And with that realisation, they were destined to fall like everyone else. It was inevitable.

Darina refused to believe that. They were still near the Cornucopia, the bodies collected, leaving pools of blood to mark the foul deed that had claimed innocent lives. They were all problems, individually. And united, the situation wasn't made better. But Darina would not let herself become nothing more than a Career that couldn't make things work for the good of the group. _And for the good of myself._

When Aurelie declared she was going to go scout the first few rows of houses, no one protested against it. Darina hid her satisfaction behind a nod of the head. Luella and Prosper were next to one another, as always, the two of them reacting in very similar, yet very different ways.

"You can't blame yourself." Prosper was trying so hard to make Luella see. He'd done a terrible thing, but it wasn't as if he didn't know this would be his future after volunteering. It was just… different. A terrible kind of different, but something he had to accept.

Luella shook her head, trying so very hard to hold back tears. She didn't want to be weak, but the dried blood caking her nose and chin were testament to how little she really knew of life. The Games were not where she should be, and yet she was, because she'd been so blinded by everything. She was paying for her mistake, this was no one else's doing but her own. She would not blame her friends back home. Even if, deep down, hatred frothed inside her stomach, there but not quite there.

She hated everything about herself.

"I'm trying," she said, looking at Prosper and attempting a smile. "I'll get there eventually, I'm sure. It'll just take time."

For the sake of Luella's well-being, he didn't mention how there was no such thing as patience, now they were in the Arena. He'd killed Varity because he hadn't waited. He'd done what he had to do to protect Luella. If he could reverse back time and protect his twisted sense of innocence, he knew he wouldn't. Because he'd promised he'd protect her and his friends. And he had. But he didn't feel proud. He felt… hollow. He felt abnormal.

He hated himself, too. But unlike Luella, he wouldn't let it swallow him. He was used to self-loathing. He'd practically been reared on how much of a disappointment he was. Prosper, unlike Luella, was used to feeling inadequate. Maybe that was his advantage.

With every word spoken between the two, empty ideas of hope that their future would be alright, Darina kept her distance and looked over their heads into the unknown beyond. Soon, they'd have to make the decision to venture out and fulfil their roles. It was almost like a job description. Sign up for the Careers, do a little training, and then go out and hunt those that hadn't chosen to be here.

It was awful. But life was awful. Darina picked up a sword, somewhere near the pile of supplies, and moved for the Cornucopia. She'd rather she was distracted by something else. As much as she knew that she was here solely for the tributes from One, Darina couldn't just listen to them over and over and over again.

They'd drive her insane.

So, she stood with her weapon in hand and watched. The hourglass was a foreboding sight indeed, a distant threat that second by second grew ever more real. Soon, they'd have to face the mystery. But rather than dwell on that, Darina kept her eyes on the village outskirts, looking for a sign of her ally. Aurelie had either found someone, or left.

The second she realised that she could have done what two of her allies already had, Darina's heart skipped a beat. Then, she felt angry. Then sad. Then… nothing. She wasn't sure how to feel over the prospect of her ally ditching the alliance and leaving Darina as designated leader. Prosper was gathering his senses, somewhat. Or at least he wasn't shaking and quivering as much as Luella.

But was she ready for that responsibility? Darina was no Aurelie, but she wasn't weak either. She could and would do whatever the Games demanded of her. Adaptability was the key to survival.

With that in mind, a howl pierced the air, a terrifying cacophony of growls that soon harmonised into a symphony of hunger and rage. _Adapt. Be a Career. _Darina held onto the handle of her sword and sent a look over her shoulder.

Prosper caught her eyes and nodded, grabbing onto Luella's hand. "We need to get ready."

"W-Why?" Luella wasn't ready. She wasn't. She felt terrible that she was a constant burden, but what did she expect? She'd gotten the lowest score amongst the alliance. She was nothing compared to the rest of them. "I-"

"Luella, you have to stand up." Prosper snapped, harsher than she'd ever seen him. Something had happened to him, something similar to Luella, but something that was changing him in a different way. The reality had effected them and taken them down separate paths. He gripped onto her hand, and as the howls rose above the rooftops, moving for the Cornucopia, they joined Darina's side with their weapons.

In a row, they saw Aurelie sprint out from the village, her own sword waving in time to her sprints. She reached the three of them and turned around, breathing heavily, her face red with exhaustion.

"Get ready," Aurelie growled. "They're coming."

It took another second for the first one to appear. Luella let out a gasp. Prosper bit his tongue to stop himself from reacting. Darina looked at Aurelie, then at her weapon, then at the first of a dozen or so creatures. They were dogs. Or at least, looked like dogs. The skin around their mouths had peeled back, revealing the entirety of their sharp teeth, dripping with saliva and blood. Their fur was matted with filth, white and repugnant. Luella gagged at the smell wafting through the air, attacking their senses as well as their fear, uniting the Career pack together.

They had their first fight past the bloodbath. Prosper, Luella, Aurelie and Darina. They looked at one another, and when the first one leaped, they sprang into action.

Prosper grabbed hold of Luella's wrist and turned her away from the mutt, pushing her sideways and wincing when he heard her cry out with pain. She had landed awkwardly, with her knife clutched between her fingers. He'd killed. He was getting used to it. He was understanding. Luella had no idea. Prosper knew he would never totally understand, either. But at least he was determined to try. He'd never set himself a task and given it less than a hundred percent. When the mutt jumped over Aurelie, who twisted out of its reach, Prosper pierced its eye with the spearhead and let it die, squirming as its pained yelps silenced with its demise.

Darina was as focused as she'd ever been. They were mutts. The moral consequences of killing tributes didn't apply here. One of them, smaller than the others, went for Darina and she sidestepped, kicking it square in the stomach and hearing it cry with pain. It turned around and stood on its hind legs. Out the corner of her eye, she watched Aurelie take out two of them with one swipe of her sword, protecting Prosper from one creeping up on him.

_Helping her allies. Maybe she does care. _She quickly slit open the dog's stomach, grimacing when its rotted intestines hung out and swayed in the air, to and fro like a pendulum. She watched it flop to the ground, lifeless, and moved on for the next.

Aurelie was determined. As determined as any of her allies. She gave Luella a disgusted sideways glance. _She's weak. She's nothing. _At least Prosper was doing something. He'd killed. Maybe he was breaking in some way, the sweat on his brow mixing with the nerves on his face, but he was acting. Luella was a burden. She was clinging to an alliance built on a foundation of strength that she didn't belong with.

Aurelie had no more time to waste thinking about Luella. Another dog made a swipe for her, its claws digging into her shin. She bit her tongue, pain blossoming along with drops of blood that trickled down to her foot. She sliced downwards, splitting its skull vertically, kicking it away and moving on for the next. Another one tried to attack her and it died for it.

This attack was meant to kick-start the Careers into action. They were not here to eliminate the biggest threats, the ones that would go out there and hunt.

The mutts were nothing more than an appetiser before the main course.

Prosper forgot about what he was doing, instead thinking more about how these mutts were trying to hurt his allies. He was here for himself. But he was also here for them. With the mutts on attack, he'd do whatever it took to stop them from harming those he cared for.

A dog went for Luella. She'd managed to stab one earlier that had gone for her, weakly limping away, only for Darina to kill it moments later. This one however was about to pounce, saliva dripping down its upper fangs, prepared to kill his best friend. He wouldn't let anything hurt her.

When it jumped, Prosper lunged with his spear and sliced upwards. It slit open the dog's side, only for it to flail forwards and drop on its legs. Luella scrambled backwards, knowing she was no use for this fight, and let Prosper deal with it. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry… _She watched Prosper stab forwards, the spear going between its eyes and silencing the beast instantly.

It was the last mutt.

Around them, where there had once been the dead bodies of tributes, there was now a pile of dead muttations. Aurelie almost marched over to Luella, but with Prosper crouching down to help her up, she bottled it up and moved for the Cornucopia. Prosper was taking control of the situation. He was fighting back. He was learning how to channel everything he felt and use it to help himself in the Games.

Aurelie respected that. She never thought she'd think such a thing in regards to her ally from One, but he was doing something. He was making his mark.

Darina let the sword fall through her fingers and collapsed to the ground, going through a bag and downing a bottle of water. For now, for the rest of today, hopefully the Gamemakers would leave them alone. They wanted to let the Careers know they weren't safe. They couldn't just sit around. Tomorrow, Aurelie would order them into the rest of the Arena and that would be it, the beginning of their hunt.

Prosper didn't relish the idea. He hated the thought of doing what he'd just done, but he knew, in the moment, he would do it again. He was loyal to his allies and that loyalty meant he had to protect them, using his weapon to bring about an end that wasn't good, but had to be done.

Luella knew she was dragging him down. Away from the Arena, she was everything she'd ever wanted to be. She was everything Prosper had wanted in a District partner. But people reacted differently to tragedy. With her life on the line, she didn't know how to cope.

The Careers were so close to falling apart.

_I'll try to make it work, _Prosper thought. Not just for Luella, but for Aurelie and Darina. He missed Ivo and Belarius, but they'd made their decision.

Now he had to make his.

They all did. Live or die, that depended on the here and now. They had to take control of their lives. Prosper was prepared to do just that. He'd help them. He'd help himself.

That was his decision.

To stand up and fight, not give up and die.

* * *

Ryon had obediently followed Dante through the maze of houses. Silent as death until they'd come to a stop a few moments ago, he now stood, a few short feet behind his ally.

"Someone's been here." Dante paused, looking down at the ground, then up at the tree line. Ryon swallowed a lump of fear in his throat, his eyes gazing out onto the edge of the skeletal forest. "We should follow."

Ryon blinked. "We should what?"

"Follow."

"Follow?"

Ryon didn't want to do that. Sure, he was scared. And he knew no matter how much macho Dante smothered himself in, he was simply lying if he didn't believe he was scared as well. Ryon missed Varity. That was the worst thing. He'd barely known the girl and yet it was like a thread of rope had been cut, rope that had tethered him to a sense of normality, now leaving him in a sea of hopelessness.

Ryon had never given up. He'd never tried, but he'd never given up. In the Capitol, he'd decided to turn over a new leaf. Not change per se, but at least give it a go. And now, without Varity, he was starting to realise that no matter how much someone tried, fate had its way of fucking you over regardless.

Varity had been the most determined, in some ways. Even more so than Dante. And now she was dead. Leaving practically two strangers to look after one another.

Safe to say, Ryon wasn't having a good day.

"Ryon, I don't like it either. But now we're in the Games, we have to do things, alright. Things we don't want to do." Dante sighed, pointing to the forest with the tip of his knife. "Don't you think I know that the last thing we should probably do is go into some creepy forest and hope for the best? It might be the worst decision, but it's also the smartest. Whoever's in there, they're far away from the rest. We can take them out."

"What if it's the Careers?" Ryon had never tried to paint himself out as weak. And he hated that right now, Dante was stepping up, leaving Ryon quivering in the wake of his determination to take control. But Ryon wanted that same level of control over his own life. He wanted to make his own choices, without feeling like he was practically walking to his death.

_But I am. _He was. No matter where he went, who he spoke to, or what he did, death could be lurking round every corner. At least, maybe this way, he had the chance of being the hunter, not the hunted.

"The Careers would stay where the most tributes would be. They live off all that stuff. Blood, guts, the whole shebang."

_He's right. _Varity would say yes anyway. He didn't feel connected to her, but he felt like he had to do her proud. Her death had to mean something, because he knew if he died, he'd want people to think about the boy that had done his best to make something of his time. Ryon was growing up. He would always hate change, but now he was accepting it as a part of his existence that couldn't be taken away.

Ryon nodded and trudged forwards, past Dante and towards the forest. "Come on then, let's get going. Into the woods we go!"

Dante tried to laugh. As they walked past the first tree, its roots creeping in and out of the dried, jet black grass, Dante had to keep a positive outlook. Inside, he was as scared as Ryon was. But on the outside, he had to be the guy that had brought together an alliance that on paper, wouldn't have worked, but did in reality. He had to fulfil his potential. He couldn't just fall in on himself.

The forest itself was as terrifying as it had looked from an outside view. The trees were clumped together, leaving limited space to walk through. Whenever there was space, jet black tufts of grass blended into white, ghost-like patches that swayed in a non-existent breeze. An owl, perched on a tree limb, twisted like a claw, gazed down at them with wide red flaming eyes, tilting its head then flying away, its call grating on both boys' ears.

Footsteps were in clumps of dirt, mingled with the grass. Someone was definitely here. Dante took the lead, sweeping past Ryon with a confirmed, resolved nod. He had to take the initiative and play a part that the Gamemakers would respect. Whoever was here, in the forest, would have to die so he could live. Was he happy? No. Dante had fought all his life, sent dozens of punches, beat up a shit-tonne of guys in his life to make something of himself. But he hadn't killed. Killing would never be so easy.

Varity would have had the same way of thinking on things. Ryon and Dante both knew that. As they entered a large clearing, the trees in a ring around them, they paused to catch their breaths back. Ryon's face was as pale as the grass underneath their worn, tired shoes. The village was like paradise compared to this forest that bespoke of bad things in their future. He wouldn't bend or break, though. He had to be strong, just as much as Dante did.

"You feeling alright?"

"I wouldn't use the word alright," Ryon smiled weakly, taking the first step again. "Fucking shitting myself might be a better observation."

"Ditto." Dante held onto his knife. He knew Ryon wouldn't judge him for being scared. Even if he wasn't the kind of person to gladly admit to that all the time, with Ryon, he felt strangely peaceful. He didn't have to fight so hard to play the tough guy of the game.

When they walked between two trees, something snagged at Dante's collar. He brushed it off, wincing when a splinter of wood grazed against his finger. "Fucking trees. Did I mention how happy I am I wasn't raised in Seven?"

"I'd take trees over District Six any day of the week."

"Eh," Dante shrugged. "Maybe I just don't like these trees."

Dante and Ryon shared a laugh. Leading the pair, Dante took another step, and that was when the two trees he was between started to move. He thought he was going insane for a second. Ryon backed up, seeing it too. His eyes widened when a branch curled its way round Dante's arms. When he shouted his ally's name, it was already too late.

They had snaked their way round his limbs, holding him in place. Dante squirmed, then started to shout, panic overwhelming his desire to act cool and composed. He couldn't see Ryon, but he knew he was behind him.

"Do something!" Dante tried to slice the branches with his knife. When he couldn't get his hand in the right position, he attempted another look at Ryon, his face stricken with fear. "RYON!"

His ally was frozen in place. Something was coming for them, through the trees not too far in front. It wasn't a tribute. _No… _He nearly pissed himself. A tall, cloaked man held a lantern in one hand, a bloody cleaver in another. A growing mist swirled across its feet as it almost seemed to float above the ground. Whatever it was, as it came for them, it cut its blade into the trees as it moved.

Dante saw it. And then Dante screamed. "RYON. RYON. GET ME THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!"

Ryon took a deep breath, swallowing his fear. It was up to him now to save Dante the tough guy. For a brief second, the idea of running away entered his mind, and then it left just as quickly. Dante was his ally. Maybe even his friend. Friends did not leave each other behind.

He thought of Varity when he took a step forward. They'd had no choice there. The man with the oil lantern, staring at them under a mess of greasy, dark brown hair, was far enough away to give Ryon the chance. He stared at the cleaver in the man's hand once more, then started to cut into the tree branches. They were tough. Tougher than he thought tree branches were supposed to be.

Dante was practically crying now, everything he'd built up over his life gone in a matter of seconds. Death, creeping up on you, did that to a person.

He was pleading with Ryon to hurry up. Ryon held his own, gritted his teeth, and continued to hack his way through. The man was so close… so close…

Three branches were cut loose and Dante twisted round and grabbed the other with his bare hand. "I. Hate. Fucking. Trees." He tore it away and threw it at the man, growling loudly, a feral look in his eye that merged with the utter terror etched into his face.

Dante grabbed Ryon's hand and pulled him further into the forest, away from the stationary man. They looked over their shoulders and watched the terrifying figure stand there, unmoving, gazing at the pair as they disappeared further into the forest.

"If we're chasing after the fucking Careers, I swear I'm going to kill you, Dante."

He laughed, bordering on hysterical. "I'll take the Careers over that. Bring the bastards on."

Ryon and Dante shared a look, then went bright red with embarrassment. They let go of each other's hand and took a sideways step, distancing themselves.

"Thanks… for saving me," Dante said, awkwardly."

"Yeah." Ryon nodded. "Don't mention it."

They'd escaped one thing thrown their way. Now it was time for whoever else was in this forest.

Time to be the hunters.

* * *

The final few hours went by. Tributes settled down for the night, the end of the first day finally falling upon them all. The bloodbath was over. The first twists and turns along the way giving birth to a newfound determination in everyone, living below the red of the moon and under the watchful eye of Panem. They'd fought and would fight for their futures. But not all of them had been lucky. Tragically, some of the tributes had already succumbed to the inevitable of the Games. They had died.

* * *

From their encampment below the twisted tree limbs, Ryon and Dante looked up at the sky, the _Fallen _emblazoned across the moon for all the tributes below. This would be their fate soon enough. A face. A name. Nothing more than a memory, gone in seconds. Ryon looked at the ground and snapped an insignificant twig between his fingers, Varity's face in the air, torturing him. Dante looked at it and tried not to care. He did, but he didn't show it. Varity bounced off his hardened exterior and that was it, her face disappeared, the last time it would ever be seen.

* * *

Battered and bruised, Garner tucked himself into the corner of the house he'd found earlier, watching Kira's face appear above him. The Capitol used this part to torture the survivors. He refused to let them force him into defeat. Kira was just another motivation to fight. He watched her face, through the window, tinged with a bloody crimson, and smiled. _For Kira. _And for himself. He'd win this for the two of them.

* * *

Vallah had never spent much time with Alaric. Coming from the same District left an imprint inside her, a mark of a bond that they shared even without knowing one another properly. She bowed her head in silence when he appeared in the sky. She was Nine's last hope. She could deal with pressure, she'd cherished the fight all her life. Alaric's death was just another motivation for her victory.

* * *

Marshall, Vallah and Carson shared a united moment of grief when Dominic's face appeared above them. Marshall knew it was his fault. Vallah and Carson didn't blame him. Acacia watched them all, silently reminiscing over their short time spent together, and kept herself quiet out of respect. Their ally was gone, she knew the pain, and for the sake of their own humanity, she hoped they'd get over it. Vallah would. Carson would. And Marshall, he already had. Dominic was gone, but not forgotten.

* * *

No one left alive knew Scyla. Her ally was dead. Her District partner gone from the Games, the very first death. No one knew the girl that had procured her kindness but never let people step all over her either. She said what was on her mind, laughing, smiling and kicking up a fuss for the sake of living her life the way she knew best. But for the tributes alive, Scyla was another victim. No one knew who she was.

* * *

Carson and Acacia exchanged a look when Neimera's face appeared. Carson scrunched his eyes up, burrowing everything he felt deep down, and when he opened them, took Acacia's hand in his own and gave it a comforting squeeze. They were now allies. They were in this together. Acacia appreciated his kindness and watched Neimera's face drift away. The Capitol might be happy to let her become nothing more than a memory, but below, amongst the living, her name meant something. And as long as it meant something, she meant something. Acacia and Carson, they would remember Neimera Harlen, for everything she was, and everything she could have been.

* * *

Lucas looked at Adrina, the two of them hidden amongst the tree-tops.

They'd hated the eternal night-time. Now they were starting to see the good in it.

"Stay hidden." He whispered, gazing down into the small camp below. Two tributes had been following them the whole time. Lucas and Adrina weren't idiots. The second they'd made camp, they'd snuck into the trees and made their way above them.

If they were willing to play the hunters, so were the two of them.

"When do we…?" Adrina's voice quivered, going quiet. Ryon was down there. He might have been annoying and irresponsible and everything Adrina hated about herself. But he was still her District partner. Lucas knew she was struggling. But for the sake of their alliance and their survival, she held it down and met his eyes. "When do we strike?"

"Tomorrow. Before they get up and leave."

Ryon was asleep. Dante was keeping watch. Soon enough, it would be time to play tribute. It would be time to fulfil their purpose here.

Lucas was scared. Adrina was scared. But united in that sense of fear, a hunger for their own lives was born. Ryon and Dante were willing to kill them. Lucas and Adrina had to be just as ready to fight back.

Tonight, they wouldn't get much sleep, if any. They had to be ready for anything.

_Tomorrow, though…_

Tomorrow, they would strike.

* * *

**Yeah, I genuinely can't get enough of this new way of formatting the Games. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it!**

**No deaths just yet. I'm not a fan of writing long Games, but I'm not a fan of killing people really quickly either. There has to be some kind of balance. Plus, I like to give everyone a chance to settle into the Arena before they start dying again.**

**Anyway, that's now the end of the first day. Let me know what you thought!**


	21. Advantage

**Chapter Twenty-One.**

* * *

It wasn't like they wanted to do this.

If they had any other choice, Lucas and Adrina would have happily slunk back into the depths of the forest, merrily going about their last days, forgetting about the truth of their new world. But that had never been Lucas, and it had never been Adrina. The two of them had grown up painfully aware of how little they mattered, and how much they really wished they did.

So, they were prepared. Above them, as the red glow spread out through the trees like muscle attached to the bone-white branches, Lucas and Adrina focused on their kill. Or kills. They didn't necessarily hope that it would be more than one kill, but the two of them were above those below the trees. Two kills would be a better, easier-for-the-future, outcome.

For another half hour, nearing on forty-five minutes, a deathly silence hung thick above them. Ryon and Dante were motionless. Adrina and Lucas holding a pent-up breath, cold air going in and out of their noses, burning their insides, rattling their confidence and courage in the upcoming fight. All it took was one mistake, one cough, one sneeze, one snap of a twig, and they wouldn't have the advantage any longer.

Unfortunately, Lucas had noticed the two of them swapping guard shifts. Not everyone were idiots, after all. Lucas would have done the same thing, rotated with Adrina in case of an attack. Now that it was morning, they'd soon set off. Not that Lucas or Adrina could be sure it was morning, what with the air in a constant stage of night-time. But it had that feeling to it. This was the beginning of the second day.

And now, at least one person was about to lose their life.

Adrina watched the two below her and bit her lip. She wasn't confident that she could kill them when put to the test. Lucas seemed so resolved to do what had to be done, he wasn't thinking about the consequences. Adrina knew what this could do to her. Not that she'd had the best life growing up, quite the opposite in fact. But killing came nowhere near as close to the shit she'd gone through. This was on a whole new level.

_But I have to do this. _She closed her eyes for a millisecond, opening them up, hoping that her steady breaths would control her mind and help her focus. As long as she had Lucas, as long as she had her wits about her, this could and would be a piece of cake. They had the advantage. This wouldn't be as hard as she was making it out to be.

_Unless…_

Five minutes went past. The last five minutes until both of them woke up, Dante kicking Ryon in the knee with a tired grunt.

"Get up you lazy shit," he groaned, rolling sideways and picking up the knife, settled in a pile of leaves. "I gave you more time than you gave me. Thanks, yeah? Don't mention it."

Ryon smiled, his hair a mess through sleeping on the forest floor. He stood up, yawned, and stretched his arms out. "What's the plan for today?"

Adrina looked at Lucas as Dante answered. He held a finger to his lips, motioning to his knife, then to hers, and then to the short jump they'd have to make to kick things into action. Dread snuck into their hearts, but both of them, clinging to a sense of strength, fought through it. _This is it…_

"Well," Dante snickered, rolling his neck with a click. "First plan, we deal with the intruders."

_Shit… _When Ryon raised an eyebrow, then went stark white as Dante pointed upwards into the trees, Lucas swore out loud and jumped down. They'd lost their moment. Dante scrambled left, his movements nowhere near as sloppy as they should have been, as tired as he had seemed seconds ago. He went for his knife and slashed the air, missing Adrina by half an inch as she dropped, tucked her arms in, and landed with a thump on the ground.

Lucas dove for Ryon, bringing his fist up and catching the boy off guard. There was no time for words. No apologies for what they were doing. No nothing. It had to be action and then they'd deal with the moral, internal consequences afterwards.

Ryon deflected one fist, then twisted out of reach of Lucas' knife. It grazed the tree, slicing away bark, giving Ryon a chance to send a hand straight for Lucas' cheek. The slap that echoed out through the forest was nothing special, but it stunned Lucas enough for Ryon to charge into his stomach, bringing him down into the leaves.

_No. _Lucas growled and brought his head forwards, smacking straight into Ryon's face. Both boys groaned, bringing a hand to their temples, soothing the pain away. Lucas shoved Ryon off and crawled through the dirt, hands raking through cold mud for his weapon. Ryon stamped hard on his back.

Before he made his next move on Lucas, however, he caught sight of Dante.

Adrina was pushing him backwards, slashing wildly, left and right, up and down, her hands a ferocious blur in the air. She had no idea what she was doing, but as long as she scared Dante backwards, she could take back the advantage they'd had all night.

Dante persevered. Ryon met his side and the two quickly launched a joint attack. Adrina's knife met Ryon's, metal on metal ringing out and grating on their ears. They continued on, one second going on defence, the next on offence as they tried to cling to an advantage over the other. Adrina was tiring out. Dante was practically pallid with exhaustion and fear of potential death. But like he'd always done, he fought through with surprising obstinacy and pushed Adrina towards a tree.

If she was forced there, she'd be pinned down and there'd be nothing she could do to stop them killing her. Adrina gritted her teeth and lunged, bringing her arm into Dante's neck, pushing him to the ground and then slicing the air near Ryon's head. Her blade slit the top of his ear, a hot, fiery pain bursting across the wound, bringing tears to his eyes. He bit his tongue and sent a fist to the bloody mess that was already Adrina's mouth, a casualty from her fight at the bloodbath.

Her split lip split even more. She tasted the metal tang of blood and spat a wad of red phlegm to the leaves. Lucas joined her side and together, they almost got the advantage over Ryon, a split second more time, he'd be dead. But Dante cared for his ally. More than he'd ever wanted to. Ryon had saved him yesterday when he could have walked away, and despite how tired his entire body felt, he would not leave him to die knowing he could have done something.

He wrapped his arms round Adrina's legs and brought her crashing down. Lucas was distracted enough for Ryon to dodge his next attack and skirt around the following slashes of his knife. Adrina's face exploded with pain, her chin practically grinding into the rocks embedded into the earthy forest floor, mingled with the grass.

She cursed out loud and twisted round, kicking upwards and hitting Dante right in the crotch. Ryon tried to make his way towards their attackers, but by then, the two of them were on his ally. There was nothing more he could do.

The boy from Eight ground his teeth together, spat at Adrina's feet, hunched over in pain, and felt Lucas step up behind him. "Fuck you." Those were Dante's final words.

Lucas drew his knife along his throat, slitting the skin from ear to ear, a crimson jet showering Adrina as she squirmed backwards, doused in the only thing that kept Dante alive for a few seconds longer.

When he swayed and careened sideways, a cannon went off and Ryon froze. Lucas and Adrina stared at him.

"I'm…" He was off before Adrina could say anything to her poor, now lonesome, District partner. She'd played a part in taking his last ally from him. Lucas wiped his knife on the back of Dante's worn clothes and helped Adrina onto her feet.

"I'll leave his fate up to you," Lucas looked the opposite of happy. His face was drained of colour, fear rattling through him as the gravity of what he'd just done slapped him hard. But he still needed to continue on. He needed to do what was right for himself. "We chase Ryon, or we go on."

Adrina wanted to cry. She almost did, there and then, standing near a dead body of a boy that had seconds ago been fighting for his life. She shook her head weakly, looking over Lucas' shoulder, focusing on a random tree somewhere in the distance.

"We leave him."

Lucas nodded, agreeing without complaint. They'd taken out one tribute. For the sake of Adrina's wellbeing, and maybe even Lucas', they would not go after Ryon.

They'd completed part one of becoming a tribute.

But there was so much more they had to do.

It was the second day. They knew from here on out, everything was about to get a thousand times harder.

That was the way of the Hunger Games.

Nothing came without a price.

* * *

_Oh shit. Oh shit. I'm screwed. I'm dead. I'm-_

Ryon stopped, somewhere lost in the forest. He had no idea if he'd been running deeper into its terrible confines, or back towards the village. He wasn't sure which was the better option. All he could think about, standing with his breath ragged and harsh, an invisible spear stabbing into his side, was Dante. _Dante. _

His eyes, almost, a second after he stopped himself, misted with tears. He would not cry. He would not. A strange, strangled laugh pierced the ominous silence around him. Dante was dead and Ryon was losing his mind. Or at least, for a brief moment, he thought he was. He'd spent so much time hating the world. Now that he was in the worst place imaginable, he'd actually found someone that had made him laugh without having to get him drunk or dry-humping him into a state of raunchy pleasure. Dante had meant something. He wasn't some shallow acquaintance that made Ryon believe he could always be a teenager.

Maybe two days ago, he could have easily considered leaving his ally and all he'd have felt was fear over being alone, not the actual idea of being without Varity and Dante specifically. Now with both of them dead, he was realising properly, without having anything to distract him, that he was so out of his depth he was practically twenty feet underground, clawing his way but making no progress, an eternal cycle that caged him in his hopelessness.

_Dante. _He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Maybe he wasn't so screwed. Maybe all it took was confidence. He looked up and tried to smile. When his lip twitched once and a rattling noise ended up the result of such an endeavour, he gave up and fell against a tree. He absent-mindedly started to play with a leaf, the first leaf he'd actually seen attached to the bark of these godforsaken plants. His finger twirled it round and round, like the thoughts inside his head went in a spiral, a continuous loop of dread, and I'm-so-screwed, and everything else that would do him no good.

_First, I need to get the fuck out of this forest. _That had to be his top priority. Lucas and Adrina, the cold-blooded murderers that had taken his ally, his own District partner no better than the Careers, were still somewhere within the trees. They could be after him. They'd traded their humanity for an advantage in the Games.

_But I can't hate them. _Ryon wanted to live. And now without Dante who had made all the decisions, Ryon was faced with no one but himself to deal with. That was how he'd liked it back in Six. The independence when he wasn't smoking his way out of something, or drinking, or doing anything but the actual course of action he was supposed to be going along with.

Now he was alone and it was the kind of alone that turned his previous life on its head. He'd never dealt with responsibility. Now he had so much pressure on his shoulders, literally speaking, that it could have been heavy enough to send him into the ground.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. _Take a deep breath and focus… _He did just that. The clouded hysteria puncturing the inside of his head went away for a moment. But it wasn't because he'd told it to. It was because, somewhere in the distance, he saw a glow, followed by the sound of footsteps. His first thought was _shit, it's the Careers, I'm dead. _And then_,_ when he focused on what was really coming, his heart froze in his chest, a panicked breath parting his lips.

The man with the cleaver, floating in a mist around his feet, was joined by two dozen or so other men and women in various stages of wildness. They looked like walking corpses, high on some kind of furious energy, digging their weapons against the trees and into the ground. Sickles, scythes, cleavers, machetes, an awful looking hammer or two. Several of them held burning pieces of wood, acting as torches to guide the way.

They looked like they were going on a hunt.

_Oh… _He realised they were all looking at him, and when he turned to see where they were chasing him, locked in a slow march, he saw the village on the horizon, cold and inhospitable under the red glow of the moon. They were moving for the village. Whoever they were… they were moving for the only way out of this goddamn forest.

He sucked in a breath and started to run. As long as he focused on where he was running, his mind didn't go back to what was behind him. The yellow glow of fire was all too real, however. Whenever he tried to focus himself on what was ahead, not chasing him, his mind caught sight of the fire and he wanted to break down and cry.

_Just run. Run. Run. Don't stop running. Run. Run. R-_

The ground under his feet disappeared. Ryon screamed, falling down and down and down into the earth below. He connected with something. When his eyes slowly focused on his new surroundings, all he saw was darkness. Then, a few moments later, dozens of feet and the raging light of the hunters' fire.

They were moving for the village.

_But where am I?_

He had no idea.

_I'm done for._

* * *

Garner had decided he wouldn't just sit around.

Yesterday he'd been faced with the choice of lounging on his mattress, or bringing the fight to the other tributes. The fight hadn't worked. He thought of Eveny and a part of him, the part that hurt whenever he thought of Kira, made him want to shy away and let the Games pass by. He'd like to have believed if he didn't leave his shelter, the Gamemakers might let him sit it out. But that was impossible.

He thought about Kira, about what had happened, and knew what he had to do. Maybe it was stupid. But every action on impulse had some kind of manic idiocy behind it. Do or die. That was the way the Games worked. Doing usually led to dying, but so did sitting around.

A Career had killed Kira. He'd take something from them.

Garner started to move through the village, avoiding the centre and right hand side. There was a glow coming from the trees, like blurry dots of fire. But in the darkness, he couldn't make out what he was looking at. He continued on, a sense of determination inside of him that he hadn't felt for a while. He could think about getting up and fighting for himself and Kira, but thoughts were empty without action. Now he was putting something into those memories.

He wouldn't pick a fight with the Careers. He'd play it smart. Take some supplies. Not enough for them to notice, but enough to help himself make it through the Arena and its trials, and maybe somewhere along the road, impede the Careers as they wasted and wasted and soon ran out of what they needed.

In and out. That was how it had to be. No stalling. No trying to make himself do it. He had to and he would, because if he didn't, all he felt was that guilt over everything that had transpired so far. Saying no to Eveny. Leaving Kira behind. Hurting his District partner's allies. He felt like he'd been making the right decisions at the time, and then soon enough, he realised that maybe he hadn't.

Maybe he should have said yes to Eveny. Maybe he should have tried to help Kira. Maybe he shouldn't have picked a fight for the sake of fighting.

_I'll be smart, from now on. _He continued through the village and realised, with the moon above him, that he was getting closer and closer to where he wanted to be. If he wasn't side-tracked or distracted by not knowing where to go, the Arena was surprisingly smaller at the front of the village than what he didn't know about it towards the north.

The rising hill of sand peeked up above the rooftops. The silver pedestals where the carnage had begun and the Games took its toll on six lives, peeking above the summit. Seven were now dead. He didn't know who the cannon earlier belonged to, but a small part of him felt relieved. It was just another number. It had to be nothing more than one obstacle down, one hurdle he'd jumped, one lap around the running track that counted down his sprint for the end.

He realised, as he gritted his teeth and held onto the knife in his hand, that he was here. The line of houses ended, leaving the clearing where the bloodbath had been, the Cornucopia closer to the houses than it usually was in other Games. Rather than centred, it was nearer to Garner. That was good. The less he had to do to get those supplies, the better it would be for him.

He crept forwards as slowly as he could. Diverting left, he moved towards the edge of the last house and peered round the corner. The girls from Two and Four were more towards the bottom of the hill than the supplies, their backs to Garner and District One, talking quietly. That was a good sign. He'd rather face the prospect of fleeing Prosper and Luella than the two stronger Careers.

_But where are…? _It was odd. Belarius and Ivo were nowhere to be seen. Maybe they'd split up to hunt. In that case, he had to hurry in case they returned before he got in and out of there.

He thought of Kira. Then of Eveny. Then of Cillian and Rell, two people he'd injured last night just because he had to do something. They motivated him forwards. All his past regrets pouring into this action of taking the initiative and helping himself survive for longer. That would be how he'd fight through the guilt. By living for those that had died. Fighting for those he had hurt.

He made it to the back of the Cornucopia and pressed himself to it, cautiously step by step winding round the side and gazing out at the Careers. District One were facing one another, sat down, closest to the pile of weapons than the food and medicinal supplies. Another good sign. He'd rather the smaller supplies than a spear or sword. He had a knife. That was enough for now.

_It's now or never. _Now. Never.

Now… Never…

He closed his eyes, nodded to himself, opened them, and darted forwards.

He snaked his hand through the strap of a backpack before anyone saw him. Something rattled around inside it as he pulled it towards him, hooking it round his shoulder and hurriedly collecting another one. Prosper and Luella looked at him and jumped up, grabbing onto their weapons. Luella sidestepped to her District partner's side. They had a connection that Garner would never have with Eveny.

He faced them off. Aurelie and Darina were still unaware of what was going on, either so deep in conversation they couldn't hear, or something else was happening. Garner stared them down.

"You don't have to do anything."

Prosper shook his head. "We always have to do something."

He lunged and Garner didn't waste a second in retaliating. It was all over rather quickly. Garner brought the backpack up in an arc, slamming the boy from One in the side of the head, something clunking against his skull and bringing him down to the ground. As he groaned in pain, Garner jumped over his body and tried to grab a few bottles of water, shoving them into an open backpack.

Luella stared at him, then at the heap on the ground that was her friend. Prosper would soon get his senses back and attack. He had to be quick.

"I'm sorry," Garner pushed Luella down into the dirt and turned to go. That was when he heard more footsteps, faster footsteps, beating against the ground. _Shit. _He looked over his shoulder and saw Aurelie and Darina, running for the Cornucopia.

_Time to go. _He pulled the two backpack straps over his shoulder, held onto the knife, and started to run.

"Luella, get him!" Aurelie shouted, holding onto her sword. The Careers watched him, about to skirt round the Cornucopia. Luella took a step forward, knife in hand, and started to pursue. _But… _She looked at Prosper and bit her lip. He'd fought for her. She had to fight for him…

"Luella. Fucking kill him!"

_I can't…_

_I really can't…_

She was weak. She was everything she'd never believed about herself. Everything that didn't matter compared to her strengths. How she could smile. How she could light up the room and be anyone's best friend.

But she had to be a killer.

These were the Games.

These were the-

"Luella!" Aurelie screamed.

"FINE!" Luella, gritting her teeth, letting all her frustration and pain and fear out, dove straight for Garner. She missed her chance to kill him. But she didn't entirely let him get away, injury-free. Her knife grazed along his side, earning a pained yelp, and then that was it. He disappeared into the village.

She fell back and wiped the tears away before they came. She would not cry. She'd had enough of crying. But she didn't smile either. She did nothing but fall down, curling into her knees, feeling a hand on her shoulder and shrugging it off.

"I know." She said, loudly at first. "I know…" Her voice became a whimper.

Garner had gone. But Aurelie shook her head and ordered Luella to stand up. She did so begrudgingly, the four of them with weapons in hand, looking out onto the village.

"We have our first target."

Aurelie pointed to the droplets of blood, leading out from the Cornucopia and to wherever the fleeing boy was.

Let the hunt begin.

* * *

Marshall sat down next to Acacia. The quartet were getting ready to leave their little humble abode and set out for _something. _Marshall was pleasantly content to spend more time in this worn, fungus-ridden shack, but his allies had other plans. What those were plans were, no one seemed to actually know. _Walk and keep walking. See what happens._

Marshall wasn't a fan of letting things spring from the shadows and work with the unknown. But he was happy to go along with what they wanted to do. As long as he was following, they'd be more than keen to stick by his side through thick and thin.

"It might be better to not think about what's out there," Marshall smiled kindly down at Acacia, who was staring at the door, a look of terror in her eyes. She washed it away with a smile that curled into the freckles on her cheeks. Cutesy. He was starting to make sense of why Vallah and Carson had welcomed her with open arms. They were too kind to turn her away.

"My mentor told me I should be scared. If I'm not scared, then I won't be ready for whatever's… out there." She gulped, the smile fading from her face. "Aren't you scared?"

"Terrified." Marshall told the truth. His allies seemed to get along knowing they were united in a similar state of paranoia and fear.

Acacia stood up and pulled the backpack strap tighter round her shoulder. "Well, we're all here for each other." She then smiled, extending her hand, opening and closing her fingers. "That's what allies do."

_Like she knows more of Vallah and Carson than I do. _For a brief moment, immaturity got the best of Marshall. A sense of jealousy that wasn't welcome. He shirked it off and grabbed her hand, laughing when she helped him onto his feet and together, they stood by the door.

Vallah watched the exchange with an overall air of affirmation. Like the overseer to their ragtag group of misfits, clinging to a sense of their normal, teenage lives. Carson offered her a smile over his shoulder. It had been his idea to venture out there and _do something. _Something was better than nothing, he'd rationalised.

Vallah had agreed quickly, and with her support, the idea cemented itself and became their next move. She was still working out how she was feeling over the idea of being out there, past the four walls, away from the fire they'd made in the fireplace, the food on the table and the overall normality of everything.

She wrapped it up tight inside her, forgetting about her worries, and hopped down from her spot near the back of the room. "How in the hell do you get ready so fast?"

"Good to be on your toes," Carson laughed, packing up his backpack full of everything and stepping to join Marshall and Acacia.

"Guess that's true." Vallah skipped along to their side, leaning over the four of them to open the door, and playfully pushed her group forwards and into the open air of the village. "Well then. This is fun." She laughed, less confident than she'd felt seconds ago.

Carson and Acacia looked at one another and both smiled. They'd united over Neimera, and now Carson was starting to worry over how he felt in regards to their new ally. Acacia wasn't the enemy. She wasn't anything but a girl, in his position, that had been forced here without a say in her own future. He'd planned to play it smart, despite acting his friendly self, and it wasn't working.

"Where to, boss?" Marshall said, looking at Vallah with a laugh.

She pointed to the left side of the village, more towards the centre than whatever lied north. "Walk that way and hope for the best."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Acacia refused to hold them back. She walked as fast as they could, keeping up so she wouldn't let her new friends down. "I remember coming this way and it wasn't exactly-"

"Something," Vallah said, interrupting her. "Something that's not nothing."

"We can't just sit in the background and wait," Carson added, attempting a smile. "We need to, well you know… be tributes."

"Oh," Acacia nodded, looking at the ground. She knew what that meant. What tributes were supposed to do. Unlike Marshall, she wasn't in the frame of mind to let her allies protect her. She wanted to help them to the best of her ability. But unlike Marshall, she had less of that than he did, less ability than he possessed. Two polar opposites in every sense of the word.

They continued down the empty road, a sense of dread clotting the otherwise peaceful air around them. Vallah had to tell herself things would be okay so she didn't stop and cause them to waste time doing that something they had to be doing. Rather than wallow in what she couldn't control, she had to live up to the girl that she'd been in the Capitol, and had always been back in Nine.

She wouldn't lose her cool. Not if she had anything to say about it. Especially not for the Gamemakers and the Capitol, watching with eyes full of bloodlust, hoping their something became death.

As the four reached another junction in the road, it was Marshall that noticed something odd about the scenery. The houses were placed well apart from one another as always, some further in clumped together and tightly packed, but the spaces in-between were being cordoned off by piles of furniture.

He turned to Acacia and raised an eyebrow. "You said you came this way." He'd stopped, meaning the other three froze in place. Acacia followed his finger to what he was looking at and she frowned, curiously raising an eyebrow.

"I don't remember that being there. I mean… I don't think it was." She shook her head. "I might not have been down this specific part, the houses all blend together. But as far as I remember, that was not there."

Carson and Vallah exchanged a worried look. They were in a ring of houses, a wide open point that could result in anything. The thick, gloopy dread that they so feared finally became far too real. Marshall latched onto how they were feeling and quickly grabbed hold of Acacia's hand, more out of reflex, and started to walk forwards.

He only made it another step when someone appeared in front of them. Vallah's heart went still. The other three froze to the ground. Marshall heard footsteps behind him and saw someone else appear from the shadows, an ominous harbinger of a future he was not yet ready for. A future that he would not, as long as he could do something about it, let become a part of him.

"Fancy seeing you here," Marshall said, more because he felt he had to say something than he actually wanted to. "Not that I know who you are. Step into the light."

There was a cheerful laugh in front of them, laced with a sense of hesitance. Belarius Orleans and Ivo Koehn had the four of them, an alliance made up of outliers, surrounded. _Even outnumbered, they'll kill us. _Carson looked at his weapon, then at his three allies, and tried to smile for the boys that had all the control over their perilous situation.

"You four seem to have found our little…"

"Trap," Carson finished, eyeing the blockade. "And a smart one at that." He realised he probably shouldn't be speaking up and bit his tongue, looking down at the ground, embarrassed. And scared. Scared more than anything, really. Similar to Marshall, Vallah and Acacia, he was not yet prepared to die. Similar to everyone, really. Who did?

Vallah held onto the spear they'd come across earlier in the morning, tucked away in their shelter. _Lucky, really. Could have been nothing. _She tapped it against the ground, trying to look more intimidating than she knew she came across. These were two Careers, after all. What was her group compared to theirs?

"A trap for what?" She took the lead in their little exchange. "If it's for us, you can expect a figh-"

"It's not for you." Ivo said, behind them. Vallah didn't spare a look over her shoulder. She kept her eyes rooted on Belarius, with a charming smile on his face, a sense of alert in his eyes.

"We don't want any trouble."

He raised a bow, an arrow pulled taut in the string, ready for release at a moment's notice. "I'm the one with the advantage."

Vallah felt fear tearing away at her heart. Regardless, she raised her spear in Belarius' direction. "And I'm the one with the spear. Shoot me down, I'll take you out with me. Pretty sure my allies can deal with your little friend."

Marshall laughed nervously. When Vallah looked at him, raising an eyebrow, he nodded and tried to smother more natural confidence over his fear. He was that guy, after all. The guy that could sell himself to anyone, at the best price.

"I don't think you're quite so adept with a weapon as I am," Belarius tilted the bow up just a tad, almost as if to highlight his point. "Lower your weapon and listen to what we have to say."

"And you kill us afterwards?"

He shook his head. Acacia saw Ivo, over her shoulder, creep a little closer. She gripped onto the knife that she usually kept by her hip. A Career against a girl from District Twelve. They were impossible odds. But she'd always liked a little bit of risk. This was just a slice of competition she knew she couldn't win.

Carson placed a hand on Vallah's elbow, turning her body so they were facing one another. "Hear him out."

"Smart." Belarius nodded and gestured to the heaps of furniture. "We're laying out a network of obstacles so we can herd the Careers to a point of our choosing. Then, well, you can probably guess what we want to do."

"Kill them," Marshall said, louder than he intended.

"Indeed." Ivo walked round the group and stood by Belarius' side, letting the boy from Two continue speaking.

"This is a one time offer. The four of you turn back the way you came and find another part of the Arena to sneak about. Leave us to finish this and the four strongest competitors – outside us, of course – will be taken out making your lives a lot easier."

It sounded too good to be true. Belarius just had to release the arrow and Vallah would be dead. She knew her spear wouldn't reach him in time. She was bluffing to try to protect herself and her allies. But there was something genuine about the way they held themselves. Something similar to what she'd seen in Carson that had made him so endearing those few days ago back in training.

Acacia knew this was the best idea. She was terrified of fighting. Now with the idea of not having to do that, especially against two Careers, they had to make the right decision and turn back.

Before she could voice this, Vallah nodded, lowering her spear. "Deal. If we cross paths again, I'm guessing you won't be so lenient?"

Belarius nodded. "As I said, one time offer. I'm happy you're seeing the benefit of our little arrangement. Ivo and I will kill them for us all, and then it's a fair fight from that point on."

"Not really fair," Marshall muttered, under his breath. They'd trained. It was pretty much the opposite of fair. Still, when they turned to walk away, he joined them and kept a cautious eye over his shoulder until they'd disappeared from view.

Vallah sighed and almost fell to the ground. "I guess we go this way then."

_Or we go back to our lovely little house. _Marshall kept his mouth shut.

They had to do something, not nothing.

Even he knew the dangers of becoming boring.

So, onwards they went. Into the something, away from the nothing.

Action would always be the best decision any tribute had to make.

They had to take control over their lives.

They had to be tributes.

* * *

Giant fucking rats.

_It had to be rats, didn't it? _Ryon visualized massive cute little hamsters, or rabbits, or anything else that wasn't a rat. Piglets, kittens and puppy dogs. Anything but disgusting rats.

Then again, any version of a giant animal could probably still chew his face off.

He was underground. Sewers, maybe. Or some kind of tunnel system that he'd worked out was based a few feet from the surface. The rats were behind him, gnawing their way towards his lovely, succulent flesh. Ryon had broken free from hysterical fear to an inner, pained, but silent outlook on the shit that he'd gone through so far.

He continued to run, ducking under beams of wood in the way, pipes that were rusted and jagged. He spared a thought of how much damage he could do with one against the mutts, but heard the splashing behind him and sped up.

Up ahead, quite literally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Not the kind of light he'd grown up with, but the red coating that had become part of his new, Hunger Games-y life. He looked over his shoulder, the first, monstrous vermin rounding the corner, and bolted for a ladder that was rooted in the ground, leading upwards.

"See you later," he looked down at the first rat, scrambling against the bottom of the ladder. Something told him they probably could pursue and climb if they wanted to, but the Gamemakers were keeping them at bay. _Yeah, thanks for the help. _

His new location, when he took a second to focus on what he'd ascended into, was one of the village houses. Normally, he might have turned a nose at the state it was in. Something he was used to growing up where he did. But compared to the forest, this was practically a three-storey mansion. _Don't get too happy. Not when you know what's coming for-_

"Oh."

Three pairs of eyes stared at him from the corner of the house. Ryon looked at the knife in his hand, then at the trio before him, and nearly burst out laughing. _Just my fucking luck… _He was starting to think that death might be easier.

"Hi." He focused on the girl that had spoken. She had flaming, messy red hair that fell, tousled down her shoulders._ Ah, District Three. _Cillian, Rell and Eveny.

"Hello." He saw the door, central to the house. He was on this side. They were on that side. Underneath his feet, the trapdoor that descended into the sewers and led to the forest made him step forwards an inch or two. Far too many memories back there.

_Dante…_

"I-"

They looked far too friendly. He had no idea what to say. Maybe if they were somewhere else, he'd have mocked them for their closeness. He'd never understood tributes that cherished loyalty over their own survival. That was before Dante. Now he realised all too well why that was a thing.

"You're Ryon," the fire-head spoke, attempting a smile. It did nothing for his nerves. "We're-"

"Yeah," Ryon interrupted. "Yeah, I know who you are."

He'd left Varity to die. He'd failed to protect Dante for a second time.

These were just tributes before him. They had to mean absolutely nothing, otherwise Ryon feared for his crumbling sanity.

He moved for the door. The boy from Three almost said something, but Eveny and Rell shook their heads. "Good luck out there."

Ryon took another step, then paused, spending a second to look back at them, huddled together, like the best of friends. They were naïve. They hadn't lost anything. Two days in, and he had. Two days in, and they were still in that Capitol state of mind. Where everything was alright and couldn't go wrong.

At least he could help them in his own way.

Prolong the inevitable.

"Something's coming for the village." He said, the fear cutting deep, the sensation of ice-cold water sluicing down his spine. "Too many… too many _people. _People probably isn't the right word. But they've got weapons. They'll be here soon. Stay away from the other side of the buildings. Don't camp out anywhere too long. Just… watch where you go."

He left before they could reply. He'd done something for them. Now he could focus on himself.

Dante's face appeared across the moon an hour or so later. He bowed his head, spent a moment locked in grief, and tried to move on in memory of his fallen allies. That was the best course of action. Fight for them.

He'd never fought for himself, let alone someone else.

Now, everything was different.

Ryon was growing up.

* * *

_**Dante Madsen, District Eight Male.**_

* * *

**Sarah. Was Dante universally liked? No, he wasn't. But I think, or at least hope, people appreciated his character for what he was. I, personally, couldn't get enough of him. He was angry and rightfully so. Sure, he wasn't exactly the nicest person around, but he was fighting for himself and his life and I respected that. He had a charming side, as well. A friendly aspect that sometimes fought for focus against the temper at his core. Ryon and Dante, for as short a time as they appeared in the Games together, were a joy to write. The fight had to result in at least one death, though, and sadly I opted for him. I'm sorry to see him go!**

* * *

**The first post-bloodbath death!**

**As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I think this might have become my favourite Games I've written. The format is just a load of fun.**

**I should probably quickly mention that these scenes will not, as you've probably worked out, be the same length. Word count depends on what's going on and whether I have more to say. Also, since I'm not writing in POVs, I can be more open with who I give these scenes to. If there's something going on, a tribute will appear a little bit more. Like Ryon, he had two this chapter because he had more going on that needed to be shown. It'll balance out eventually, every tribute will get attention, it just works out depending on what they're doing.**

**Thanks for reading :)**

**(Oh and I hope these 6,000-7,000 word chapters aren't a pain. I can't tell how much you guys like to read at one go. Sorry if it's a bit much.)**


	22. Young One

**Chapter Twenty-Two.**

* * *

They couldn't keep walking forever.

Vallah, at the front of her alliance, was trying her best to guide the team towards something. That very something they'd ventured out for hadn't shown itself yet. All four of them, without saying it out loud, were thankful for the break they'd been blessed with.

Belarius and Ivo had been a close call yesterday. It could have turned into something bad but it hadn't. Though they'd lost two allies, no one seemed to look back so much as they did focus on what was in front and could happen.

Marshall kept close to Acacia and Carson. The bond he'd fought for had become strong. He'd fulfilled his plan to find a trusting alliance. Vallah, Carson and even Acacia would do anything for Marshall. The problem was, somewhere in the back of his mind, he was realising he was starting to feel the same way.

Vallah was a fun, lively person to be around. She reminded him of those that were smarter than the common people in Five. Those he had to work extra hard to scam. Then there was Carson. He seemed so much more in tune to the Games and the way it worked than any of them. And their newest ally. She might have been the youngest tribute left in the Arena, but she was strong in her own way.

None of them were breaking. Marshall refused to be seen as the weak link. He was giving it his all because the alternative meant showing his true colours. He wasn't even sure what that meant anymore. Who he really was had become overwhelmed by the alliance he'd tricked into sticking by his side.

_Dammit._

At the front, Vallah raised a hand. The air had lowered in temperature. With every breath she took, a white cloud formed around her lips, a chill creeping into her veins. It unsettled her. The very calm they'd been surrounded by seemed to be coming to an end. Something was happening.

"Carson, quick." She waved him forwards. Acacia watched the two of them and then met Marshall's eyes. She was trying her absolute best not to break down and become the very burden she'd tried so hard never to become. As long as she kept a smile and a positive outlook, things usually happened the way they were supposed to.

By the look in Vallah's eyes, however, maybe today was the exception.

Near the front, a junction in the village that split into two directions, Carson shook his head. "There's something around the corner."

"You're the one who wanted something."

He laughed, anxiously. Vallah nudged him in the shoulder. "I'm kidding. We all needed this. The Gamemakers would have driven something towards us, whether or not we were prepared. This way we're ready."

"Maybe it'll walk past."

The shadows grew larger and larger against the house at the corner. A growing fire flickered, yellows and red, illuminating the state of the buildings. They didn't have the time to focus on the crumbled houses. There wasn't just one fire. They split into a dozen or so, dancing across the crumbling wood.

Vallah took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder. Acacia was snuggled up close to Marshall. When she realised how near she'd gotten towards him, she laughed and stepped to the right. Vallah tugged on Carson's sleeve and nodded to their other two allies.

"Something's coming."

Fear choked Acacia and Marshall. They looked down at their hands, at the knife each of them had, then glanced back up at Vallah and Carson. "What do we do?" Acacia knew the answer before she asked the question.

"We have to-" Vallah stopped. In unison, both their leader and Carson seemed to freeze to the ground, rooted in an ice cold state of paralysis that Marshall felt, soaked into his insides. He knew what had happened… _Fuck. Fuckkkk._

He looked over his shoulder. Fire was sporadically cast in the air, blazing above the heads of… of something. A group of ten or so had surrounded them from behind. Acacia whimpered when another group, fifteen, maybe even twenty, tried to lunge for Vallah and Carson. They stepped back and joined Marshall and Acacia, stuck in the centre.

They were trapped.

The beings in front were huddled close. Their faces were etched in a state of total fury. They looked ill, flies buzzing around their flaky, dead skin. Decayed into various stages of grey, yellow and blue, pus oozed from cracks in their cheeks, a maggot in the eye socket of a lady at the front. They weren't dead, but something had happened to them.

Marshall held onto his knife, sweat budding round his fingers, his grip slippery and weak. They were dressed like they were. Poor, weak, like farmers or field workers. These were the villagers. In a state to match the houses they'd left behind.

And now, here they were, ready to take them back.

Vallah glanced around quickly at her allies and nodded when she met Carson's eyes. "They're slow. Don't let them get an attack in on you and it should be fine. Stab, stab, and just keep stabbing!" Her voice increased in volume, trembled out, and then she lunged at the nearest one.

Its pitchfork didn't quite reach Vallah in time. Her spear went through its skull, bursting free from the back of its head. Something black and slimy trickled down from the broken bone, falling to the ground as the body swayed and crumpled. She bit down disgust and went for another one.

Carson drove forwards. All the time he'd spent on training came down to this. He had to prove himself to himself and his allies. They depended on him.

Marshall was shaking. Acacia was practically on the brink of fainting. "Whatever happens," Acacia gripped his hand, squeezing it. "I've got your back."

Marshall nodded weakly and ducked under the swipe of a machete. He grabbed the mutt round the waist, not really thinking, and twisted it into the ruins of a house to the right. It went down into the charred wood. Marshall yelped when its hand gripped round the front of his shirt, dragging him down with it. His fingers went into one of its eye sockets. "Fuck!" He yelled and brought his other fist down, shattering the bone under his fingers.

It imploded outwardly, shards jetting outwards and collapsing in a pool of black gloop. His first kill. Marshall swallowed vomit down and stood up, rounding on another one.

The carnage continued to unfold. Acacia trembled from head to toe, but she was as determined as she always had been, when they were safe in their shelter. She had to prove that she wasn't a useless waste of space. That despite her age, she had a fighting chance. This was a point not to just prove what she could do to her alliance, but to the Capitol and anyone that doubted a young victor. Tributes like her could do anything.

She watched Vallah and Carson take down one, together, ripping it from the shoulder to navel and sliding around in the guts that spilled free from its rotten stomach. Bile burned the back of her throat. She drove on and ducked under a swipe for her head, weaving between its legs and scrambling up its back. She was small and quick. This was her advantage.

Her knife burrowed into its eye. She tore it up, ripping out a chunk of brain. She continued to hack at its skull until it became a pulp. _I'm doing it. I'm actually fighting._

Acacia felt free. She didn't feel scared. This was easy. They were mutts. Not humans. Creations of the Capitol. Nightmarish creatures. She'd always dreamt and clung to her happiness. Nightmares had no effect on her. She could do thi-

"NOOO!" She screamed as a hand snaked round her neck. Something had a hold on her. A knife rose above her face. When she screamed again and closed her eyes, she expected the burning sting of death. When nothing came, she opened her eyes and met the horror of a diseased face of one of the villagers. She was upside down, slung over its back.

It was walking away.

_Away…_

She yelled and beat her arms and legs against her attacker, trying to break free. Its grip was too strong. The villagers were moving away, leaving her allies and clearing out. She saw Vallah's eyes widen when they landed on Acacia, slinking into the shadows of the village.

"No!" She charged forwards, intent on a rescue.

Carson wrapped her arms round her waist and pulled her back, shaking his head.

"We can't…" He was breathless, panting. Blood streaks dirtied his face. There was a cut in his shoulder. Marshall looked pretty beat up, bruises on his face, the same dark goo splashed across his entire body. He shuddered and looked at Acacia, disappearing amongst the throngs of villagers.

"There's too many. They're taking her somewhere." Carson held his chest. Each word hurt to speak. He was out of breath, in pain and tired. The day had only just begun and this had been thrown at them. "If we play it smart, we can get her back. Spring an attack or something when they least expect it. But we have to give it time."

Vallah agreed almost instantly. Acacia had fought to protect the three of them as they'd fought to protect her, themselves, and their whole team. She wouldn't just give up on her.

When their eyes settled on Marshall, he gulped and looked at the ground. _Acacia… _

Would he really risk his life to save a girl that had only really just joined them? She had to die, anyway. They all had to die. _But… _Marshall met Vallah's eyes and forced himself to nod. They'd abandon him if he said no. They wouldn't see him the way they always had.

He couldn't break it now, even if his life was on the line. Even if this decision was a stupid one.

A few streets down, Acacia was in tears, sobbing out loud until one of them knocked her out. In her mind, she was dead. She wanted to think they'd come for her, but when it came down to their lives or hers, she knew what they would pick.

She was wrong, though. They would rescue her.

Friends looked out for friends.

Acacia was one of them.

They'd get her back.

* * *

The hunt was on.

Prosper looked at Luella. Aurelie was upfront, taking the reigns as expected. Darina stuck somewhere near to her side, hesitant but not quite speaking up if she had any doubts about what they were doing. This was where they fulfilled the real reason people supported the Careers. The fact they were trained killers.

Luella's smile had gone. The light that had been so endearing to Prosper, twinkling in the brown of her eyes, had vanished completely. When he looked at her, all he saw was a hollow shell where the real Luella had been defeated by her new surroundings. She was angry. She was upset. She was everything but the happy, supportive friend Prosper was still trying to be towards his allies.

_But at what cost? _He couldn't keep it up forever. But as long as he believed he could, then it was easier. The ringing in his ears and the dull throbbing in his skull reminded him of who they were prowling after, like predators in the shadows, slinking through the village after their prey. Garner had done this to him. But he could have killed Luella and he hadn't. He'd made off with supplies and that was it.

He looked down and saw the droplets of blood, a dark crimson shade, splattered on the earth. A shiver went down his spine. The future didn't bode well for the wellbeing of his mind. He'd already killed Varity, and with the way things had become with his best friend in the Arena, it only spoke of a darker future.

Prosper held his chin up and continued on, with a spear in his hand. At least he could try. Try to make something of himself, even at the cost of the Prosper that had clung to his delusion back in One. This was no fairy-tale. But he could still be a good person.

Aurelie continued to lead the attack on the boy from Seven. She looked at Darina and offered a curt, frank nod. There was a hunger in her eyes. Darina didn't understand the drive that pushed her onwards. She had her own reasons for fighting, but with Aurelie, it bordered on some sick enjoyment in the chase.

Darina bit her lip. Aurelie was not someone she could get on the bad side of. But Darina refused to bow down at the feet of someone that was, realistically, in the way of her victory. At the end of the day, Aurelie was just another obstacle that had to be eradicated eventually.

"There are other tributes," Darina said, keeping up the slow jog they were at, weaving between the dilapidated, ruined houses. "Why him?"

Aurelie grunted. "It makes a statement. Shows we aren't to be messed with. You can't just steal from the Careers."

"And yet we leave the Cornucopia undefended."

For a second, she feared she'd overstepped. Then she told herself, _no. _No. She would not fear what she had to say to Aurelie. Darina was strong on her own two feet, she didn't need the support of a girl like Aurelie. She was not some sidekick to be told what to do and when to do it. She would not stop herself from speaking if she had something to say. It wasn't a cry for attention. It was how Darina saw herself. The real Darina.

"There's nothing we can do about that. We've got what we can carry, it's enough." Aurelie looked over her shoulder, pausing for a second. "Unless you're scared?"

"Like hell," Darina said, her voice lowering in pitch. Something in her voice did scare her, for a second. She shook it off and tried to smile. "Let's just get this done. Look, he turned right here."

Aurelie spent a moment, looking into Darina's eyes, the corners of her lips twitching upwards into some kind of smirk. _Whatever, she can think what she wants. _When they went right, Darina looked over her shoulder and offered an encouraging smile to Luella.

She only met her eyes and then let them fall to the ground, deflated. It was if someone had stuck a pin in the real Luella and let all the happiness and joy out, like air in a balloon, until she had become nothing more than a shrunken mess that reflected nothing of the girl she once was.

Prosper wasn't the only one worried about the wellbeing of their ally. Darina couldn't help but feel for the girl as well. _She won't make it much further. _

Up front, the village split off into another junction; north, east and west. The blood droplets ended. Aurelie looked at them and frowned. _He can't just… _She wouldn't give up. They'd started the hunt to prove themselves. Now, if they just gave up, it would make the past day worthless. They might as well just go back and start again. Aurelie didn't abide by the idea of re-dos. Garner had to die. It was the way it had to be.

She didn't like the idea of killing him. She knew she didn't like to kill. But in some way, the idea that she was strong gave enough satisfaction to almost make herself believe she did like what she did to people. As long as there was something to enjoy, it made it easier to forget what she was actually doing to real life, breathing, living humans that hadn't done anything wrong.

She ground her teeth together and pointed left, looking at Darina behind her. "We've lost his trail, we might as well-"

A tall blur darted out from the house, left of the junction, right where they would have passed. It tried to speed into the right hand direction of the road, but Aurelie, Darina, Prosper and Luella all saw him before he could get out of sight.

"Got you." Aurelie smirked and lunged for him, bringing her spear back. For a second, she almost threw it. She held back temptation, knowing he might get away if she missed. Rather than risk that, she pumped her legs against the ground, arms swaying by her side as she led the sprint after him. The silent hunt had ended. Now it was an all-out war against Garner Verbeck.

He tried to outrun them. But Garner knew, as he peered over his shoulder, dread heavy in his heart, that he was no match for trained fighters. The cut in his side brought tears to his eyes. He raised his hand over the wound and held back a sob at the pain that coursed through his veins, overtaking his desire to escape and replacing it with a broken young boy out of his depth, in a world that sought to swallow him whole before he'd really lived his life.

But he continued on. For Kira. He yelped when Aurelie's hand almost snagged round his collar. His legs carried him round one of the houses, then forwards down the beaten road, the well from the beginning central to the small ring of houses he found himself in front of. He spent a single second making up his mind of where to go, but that split second hesitation to make a decision was the biggest mistake he could have made.

The ground met his face, Aurelie straddling his back, turning him over. A fist cracked his front tooth. He cried out in pain and spat blood into her eye, throwing her off and scrambling for purchase on air. He went back down. Then up. Then, before he could do anything, sheer agony exploded in his calf, burning everything that would have driven him on and melting it into a burning red haze of pain, overwhelming him entirely.

Aurelie's spear was embedded in his leg. He turned over, crawled backwards on his elbows, and felt the tears under his eyelashes."I won't… I won't beg…" He wiped the tears away and shook his head. He would not give them what they wanted.

Aurelie sneered. "We don't show mercy."

"You're all… you're so…" He couldn't find the right words to match the seething hatred he felt for this monsters before him. Prosper looked at Luella and frowned. Her eyes were on the ground. If she hadn't have wounded Garner, they might never have found him.

Darina tried to keep a composed face. The Careers held a breath in, the atmosphere thick with finality. Garner was about to die.

No one expected Aurelie's next words.

"Luella. You started this. You end it."

She looked over her shoulder and met the startled eyes of the girl from One. Her weak ally, the girl that was dragging them into the ground, making a mockery of everything that the Career districts valued. She opened her mouth, then closed it like a dying fish, struggling for breath. She shook her head and looked at Prosper.

"Aurelie-" He started, only for Aurelie to cut him off.

"We've all killed," Aurelie motioned down to the injured boy from Seven, a sickly shade of white, everything drained from his face. He'd given up. "She hasn't. She either proves herself, or she leaves."

Aurelie knew what she was doing. But she couldn't bear it. She couldn't make sense of why Luella had volunteered if she was only going to shatter into this broken girl before her. She didn't understand.

Luella had to do this.

She took a few steps forward on shaky legs, her knees knocking together. Luella swayed once, Prosper held onto her shoulder with sad eyes, a frown, and then an angry glare when he looked at Aurelie. _She can't do this to her… She isn't like her…_

He'd killed. Darina had killed. Aurelie had.

Luella hadn't.

She continued on, towards the boy from Seven. _It's my fault. My fault. Mine. Mine. Mine. _A sob broke free from her lips, the tension in the air collapsing as tears clouded her eyes, pouring free down her cheeks and to the ground. "I didn't volunteer for this…"

"Then why did you?" Aurelie spat, stepping forwards, an inch from Luella's face. "Kill him or go."

Luella looked at the boy on the ground. Garner met her eyes and then broke contact. He knew death was coming for him. He accepted his fate and waited for these monsters to claim his life. Luella took another step forwards, raised the knife in her hand, knuckles white, and lowered it.

"I can't-"

"Now!" Aurelie barked, raising her spear.

_She wouldn't… she wouldn't kill me. Please. Please. Pl-_

"NOW!"

"I CAN'T!" Luella was on the verge of total collapse.

Aurelie took another step in her direction, the spear clutched tight in her fingers. Luella's eyes widened. "Please…"

A spear cut through the air. Garner trembled once, the spearhead embedded in his chest, and then went still. A cannon rang through the Arena, signalling the end of the boy from Seven. All eyes turned to face Prosper.

He was no longer holding his spear.

"You don't get to do that." He was on the brink of lunging at Aurelie. All he wanted was for them to work together. She was ruining everything. "Next time you want something done, do it yourself. We aren't your toys. You don't get to push Luella into something you know she can't handle."

Aurelie's eyes were slits. She was trembling with rage. The second she moved for Prosper, Darina darted between them and raised her hands, shaking her head.

"It's done. Do you want the Careers to end right now, in a fight that you might lose, or do you want to continue on and get the job done?" Darina looked at Luella. She was practically on the ground in a heap, staring at the dead body of Garner. "What's done is done. There are more tributes out there. Think of the bigger picture."

Aurelie looked at Prosper. Then at Luella. Then once more at Darina.

"Fine." She turned to go, leading the way round the well and towards another part of the village. Then she looked behind her, at her ally, crying on the floor. "Luella-"

"Aurelie. No." Prosper silenced her, feeling as angry as she was. He'd vowed to protect Luella. He'd killed Varity to save her from death. And he'd now killed Garner to protect Luella from a side of herself she'd never cope with. Luella would become nothing if she killed. Prosper had saved her from that. He'd protect her no matter what. This was no story, but he could still be her hero. He'd do anything.

Aurelie disappeared round the corner. Darina followed, placing a hand on Luella's shoulder. Prosper helped her up, whispered comforting words into her ear, and helped her along.

The Careers were falling apart.

Prosper knew the end would come.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

The ground opened up.

Belarius and Ivo neared one another. The last of the blockades were in front. The labyrinth within a labyrinth in perfect condition, placed for their assault and decimation of the Careers.

But of course, as luck would have it, the Gamemakers had chosen to fuck with them.

Belarius smirked at Ivo, shook his head, and let loose an arrow. From his back, strapped to his bag, he pulled free a wooden staff and started to beat down the rats that had advanced from below.

"They're testing us," Ivo said, grim-faced, a sword in his hand. He split open the skull of a rat and kicked it away, swiping at another one that dived for him. "We've gotten it too easy."

"And yet we're here to provide you guys with a quality fight." Belarius rolled his eyes and killed another rat. "Typical."

Ivo laughed quietly and continued his attack. Side by side, Ivo felt on the brink of invincibility. It wasn't because he was ignorant towards his own mortality. Or unaware how close he could come to death. If he didn't kill a rat, it would sink its teeth into his throat and that would be it. He'd be dead. But something about Belarius' loyalty, and Ivo's conviction to their alliance, gave Ivo a confidence he'd never felt before.

He'd always stayed away. Now he was stepping up. It felt invigorating. The Games had breathed new life into Ivo. Belarius was the one that had given him this chance to become something new. He owed a lot to Belarius. And in a similar way, for showing him the true path to fighting for himself and keeping a clear head, Belarius was indebted to his ally just as much.

Their plan was nearly on the point of falling into place. The pieces had come together. They'd seen the Career alliance, earlier on, venturing into the village. It wouldn't be long until they could begin their overhaul of the alliance they'd once been a part of.

Belarius dashed the skull of a rat against a beam of wood, slitting its throat and groaning as it died before him. Neither of the two felt happy about the idea of what they would do.

But it gave them purpose. It gave them an idea of their future. The Careers were their biggest opponent in the Games. So as long as they had one another and had this plan, taking them out wouldn't be so hard. And then, afterwards, the two could make it to the end. What happened then would have to be decided later.

Side by side, they knew what had to be done.

Ivo grimaced when blood spurted up from one of the vermin at his feet. He kicked another away, killed a particularly hairy one that threw itself at him, and that was it. The last one scuttled on its little legs, scrambling back into the hole and descended into the darkness of the underground. Belarius high-fived Ivo and clapped him on the back, grinning to himself.

"A little bit of peace and quiet. Finally." Belarius sighed and fell back against the house they'd taken base nearby. "You don't have to hold it all in, you know. If there's something on your mind…"

Ivo shook his head. "I'm fine. This is the best way. They have to die."

"We could have killed the others yesterday but it didn't make sense to. Or it didn't feel right. Whichever helps me sleep at night." Belarius walked round the broken door, swaying on its hinges, and took a seat at a table. Ivo soon followed and watched his ally. He seemed on edge; jittery just like Ivo was. They could die. They really could. Ivo was scared of death, but more importantly, he was scared of the after effects of killing someone he'd shared a joke with, or laughed with, or saw as a friend or a good person.

But in the Games, that didn't exist. Ivo didn't kid himself into believing he was on some pedestal above the competition. He was just as bad. But with Belarius, a guy he'd been drawn to from the start, pieces were falling into place that made swallowing the hard truth a little bit easier. Belarius felt the same way. Aurelie might be easier to get rid of, but the others…

"Darina…" Belarius sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Ivo."

"Don't be. Seriously, Belarius. Darina would do the same thing in my position. We have to fight for ourselves now we're here. District loyalty can't mean much."

"Tell that to Prosper and Luella." Belarius laughed and unpacked a backpack, bringing out some of the food they'd stored and a water bottle.

For now, they would wait.

The air was electric with the idea of what was to come, but some small part of Belarius and Ivo were excited. No more forcing themselves to be patient. Events would unfold and together, they would come out on top. Killing gave them no pleasure. But surviving, that was what mattered most.

Together, like other alliances.

As long as they had someone to rely on, the world didn't seem so grey.

The Gamemakers could throw whatever they wanted. Test or no test. The tributes could get in their way. But one by one, Ivo and Belarius would fight whatever tried to impede their way.

Survival at all costs.

Together, no matter what.

* * *

Rell, Cillian and Eveny were the only tributes to venture so far into the village.

Ryon had given them a warning to stay away. Neither of the three planned on going against the words of a boy that clearly had been through a lot in such a short amount of time. If he was trying to trick them, there were other ways to go about it.

He had seemed genuine. They had no reason to doubt the fact that the village was under attack. The faster they got away, the better it would be for all three of them.

The buildings were sparse in the northern sector, a white, wispy mist billowed out from the water to their right, swirling over their feet as they continued to walk. What once were houses similar to those they'd left behind, the ruins had become nothing more than rotten beams of wood, mottled with fungus and moss, decrepit and sunken. The earth itself was a deep, dark black. Tufts of dead grass sprouted from the cracks running through, like cobwebs shattered throughout, guiding their path forwards.

Cillian looked at Rell and bit his lip. He was scared. They were all scared. There was something completely terrifying about where they were. It hadn't taken long to get here at all. Their emotions had made the trek longer, their questions, doubt and worries about the unknown location they were heading into. Rell had helped. Something about her courage spoke volumes for her other allies. Eveny and Cillian weren't about to let her go it alone. Not anytime soon. Or ever, if they had a say in the matter.

Cillian was prepared to work hard for their team. Do anything and be anything he had to be. The thought left an unsettling, anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. But he was prepared, nonetheless. Eveny thought along the same lines. Her mind went back towards Garner as they passed by a ring of large, stone monoliths that stacked up into the air and created a path forwards.

She'd abandoned Garner because he'd made it clear of his intentions from the very beginning. It was the three of them against everyone else. That was the way of the Hunger Games. She had nothing else to consider. Garner had to mean nothing.

"Bit suspicious," Rell said, nervously. "If a giant stone is telling us to go one way, do we really do what it says?"

The ground underneath the odd structure was paved with something prettier than the surroundings they'd grown accustomed with. But as they continued forwards, Rell knowing that whatever she felt had to be swallowed down, the ground returned to its former self. Decaying. On the brink of death. They finally reached the end of the path, almost on the very shore of the water, and came across the opening to a large tomb.

"Oh," Rell breathed out. "So we go in there?"

"I don't think we have a choice." Cillian said, nervously.

The sandy hill started to rise up a few feet beyond the way forwards. The clock tower and hourglass were much larger up close. They'd reached the very top of the village. There was nothing but forwards, or back the way they'd come.

"We go in this together, like we've done everything." Eveny smiled at Rell and Cillian. Together meant everything to the trio of friends. As long as they could depend on one another, they almost felt invincible. They hadn't suffered loss yet. They knew what was out there and what could happen, but together, together they would face any challenge.

Rell found her courage and led the way forwards. She kept her eyes focused on the front, a confident smile on her face. She tried not to be afraid of the prospect of dying. People passed away every day. Whether there was something after or not, it was a fact of life that gave Rell a way of looking at the world that not everyone shared. A way to never let an opportunity go past, forgotten. Not to be bored. To wither away. To regret or feel guilt. Even in the Games, she was determined to stick with this.

"Damn…" They entered the tomb. It dipped underground, a muddy pathway leading towards an open room, concrete yet pristine and strangely beautiful. There were large, stone coffins in the centre. Three of them.

Eveny gulped. _Three. _That wasn't a good sign. Still, she kept a smile on her face and gripped onto Cillian's hand, feeling him squeeze her fingers. He was trying just as hard as they were. This was all new to them. This whole idea of danger. Cillian especially had never led the wildest life. He'd had pretty much anything he'd ever wanted at his fingertips. But he'd never taken it for granted, and he wasn't about to forget where he was and what he was fighting for just because he wasn't used to this new world. He'd fight just as much as they did.

Still, the sight of three coffins didn't help settle his nerves.

Rell walked forwards first, placing a hand and tapping the left one. "We come all this way and all we find are three coffins. You blow my mind Gamemakers." She laughed and offered the ceiling a smile, wondering if there was a camera round them. There probably was. This was new territory.

The place reeked of death. Cillian wrinkled his nose and stepped up to look at the central coffin. It was closed, like the one Rell was nearest to. Eveny followed on and moved for the right hand side. The lid was tilted against it, not on top.

"Um guys," she gestured down to the lid. They all looked up at the carvings in the ceiling above them. Whatever they'd been driven into, this place of death, it didn't make any of the three feel comfortable. They were just as scared as they'd been in the main part of the village, surrounded by the houses and tributes and everything else that could have been out there.

"Place a body within and reap the rewards."

Rell and Cillian looked at Eveny. She pointed to words carved into the ceiling and then down to the tomb. "I guess we need to fill it…"

The two from Three exchanged a look. "Um…" Cillian watched Rell clamber over the side and lie down. She smiled, laughed, then realised nothing was happening.

"Of course it wouldn't be that easy."

She knew the truth. They all did. The Gamemakers had created this part for an alliance like them. Normal, everyday teenagers brought into a place that they had to fight to survive in, knowing they couldn't all make it. Cillian looked down at the ground. "Do we…?"

"I think we do," Eveny said. She didn't look pleased. But she'd made those promises to her friends for a reason. She'd told them to look at the Eveny in the Games and remember the one that was at home. If anything, she was determined to do what the Gamemakers wanted because what they wanted would give her the future she longed for.

"But that means…" Rell looked at Cillian and sighed. "Are we really going to do something like that for a reward the Gamemakers may not even give us?"

"They want tributes." Eveny glanced at the tomb, at the words, then at the entrance to this place. "We have to be tributes. Do what tributes do. This is it."

"So we kill." Cillian didn't like it. Rell didn't like. Eveny didn't like it.

They had a choice, of course. But between their own lives and someone else's, all three of them knew, deep down, what they would go for. It was one tribute down. A life that was in the way of their own. And they'd be given something for doing it.

It made sense.

"I don't…" Cillian stopped himself from continuing and bowed his head.

"Come on," Rell clasped his arm and gave it a shake, the same smile on her face that he'd grown to love. Rell would do anything for him. Like he'd do anything for her. "This is the best way."

"So we just got back where we were, find a random tribute and kill them?"

Eveny shook her head. She knew what they had to do. It left an awful taste in her mouth, the understanding of the best way, knowing what it really meant for her morality.

"Acacia…"

"Acacia?" Rell and Cillian exchanged a look.

"District Twelve. Her ally died. She's… she's alone. And she's the youngest. The weakest. It makes…. sense. Doesn't it?"

"Eveny, that's…"

Rell cut Cillian off. She knew, like Eveny, that it was in fact the best way forwards.

An awful way, but the best way.

"She has no allies. She's on her own. It would be easy… She won't win." Eveny hated herself right now. But she couldn't turn back, knowing she'd only die if she didn't focus on the way forwards. "Girls like her don't win."

"But people willing to kill girls like her do?" Cillian shook his head. "We can't become that kind of person."

"Yes we can." Rell was on Eveny's side. Cillian knew it. Because she wanted what was best for him, and what was best for him were the rewards promised. Acacia had to die so Rell could be sure Cillian would be alright. It was horrible.

Cillian sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He hated it. So much. It wasn't right. But the Games weren't right. They never would be.

"Fine," he conceded, frowning. "We go after Acacia."

"I'm sorry…" Eveny said. Rell offered her a smile and departed after Cillian.

The Gamemakers wanted them to become tributes.

For the sake of their own lives, they had no choice.

* * *

"Halfway."

Lucas pointed at the hourglass. Adrina followed his finger to the clock tower, a giant structure in the sand, piercing the starless sky above. The top of the hourglass was about half empty, at an estimate. Soon, whatever was going to happen would happen.

Lucas had to prepare for it. There was no way of knowing the mystery of the hourglass, but as long as Lucas kept controlled and focused, he could deal with anything that the Arena threw at them.

First, however, he had to look to the present and take advantage of it. Adrina had relinquished control of the alliance to Lucas because she believed he had the better idea of where they could go.

She looked to him now, the two of them perched somewhere near the forest edge, in the trees like they had been two nights ago, looking out onto the village below. The action was down there. They had to be the tributes that they were expected to be. It would be no use running from it and hoping to find something else. They'd come across a fight and they'd won it. Lucas was not about to be taken unaware like they could have been. He had one eye focused on behind, and one eye on what was in front.

The other tributes were hidden amongst the buildings.

"We need to destroy their escape route," Lucas said, looking at Adrina. "We take away their exit."

She looked into his eyes and saw a spark in them. The flickering light of an idea that would soon grow into their upcoming future. She saw his hands fumble around for the matches and watched him descend down from the branches and onto the forest floor.

_Oh. _She knew what he wanted to do.

"We'll take away the only place we can run to if-"

"We don't need to run." Lucas said. This was the best course of action. He was taking control of the Arena and forcing the tributes towards the fight, rather than giving them the option of doing what they had done at the beginning. "Panem wants action. We have to give them that."

Garner's face appeared, moments later, cast across the red of the moon.

Lucas and Adrina didn't know him. They thought nothing of it as they set their plan to motion.

The forest was a way out, a place to run to and take shelter in if a fight came your way. Lucas and Adrina would take that away from everyone. A hopeless tribute with nowhere to run was a dead tribute. A weak tribute with nowhere to go would fall, paving the way for Lucas and Adrina's future.

The forest had to burn.

* * *

_**Garner Verbeck, District Seven Male.**_

* * *

**Olive. I started to really love him with these last few chapters. I always liked his character, but with Kira's death giving himself that final bit of development and fight, a new side of Garner showed itself and yeah, it was really enjoyable to write. Loners can be hard, though. I didn't really have so much planned for Garner after what he did accomplish, so as sad as it was to decide, I had to make the choice of bringing his time to an end. Still, a big thank you for submitting him!**

* * *

**Eh. This is the first Games chapter I'm less than pleased with. But whatever, I hope you all enjoyed it regardless of that!**

**I'm so tempted to start my next SYOT, but I promised myself I won't until the Games are done for this one. I'm holding myself back xD**

**Let me know what you thought of this chapter!**


	23. Burn

**Chapter Twenty-Three.**

* * *

Every time Acacia woke up, she willed herself to fall under a spell of blissful sleep.

With each passing second, her body would be jolted awake through the fear that rampaged her body, eradicating any hope of losing herself to her dreams. They were a happy place. They were a place she could go to for comfort from the horrors of the world she existed within.

But now, in the worst possible place, leading to an impossible world, her imagination was letting her down. There was no more hope. No more smiles, or laughs, or dedication to herself and her friends. It was Acacia and Acacia alone, on the brink of the end.

The things that had captured her finally came to a stop, the end of their journey some place close to the edge of the forest. A ripple of anger seemed to generate throughout the disease-riddled abominations. They looked at one another, then at the blazing fire, ravaging the skeletal trees and leaving it ruined and inaccessible. Though they didn't make any noise or use language, Acacia could tell they seemed to know what the other was thinking without anything said in-between.

It made everything a thousand times scarier.

Acacia's legs were bound. She thrashed around to no avail, scratching and clawing her way free, only for one to pin her down and finally bind her legs and arms together. She was helpless. Her body sagged and control left her, like a ragdoll in their horrific arms. She would be strong. _I won't… I won't cry… or give them what they want…._

The first cut shattered her strength entirely. Promises became nothing but empty words, forgotten in the wind.

One of them seemed to shake with laughter, or maybe that was Acacia hallucinating through the agony that burst from her cheek, as the skin wilted and flapped in the breeze. Blood trickled down her face with every slit of her skin, leaving her head a mess of gore. Acacia was blinded by the blood that poured forth from a cut in her forehead, clotting her eyelashes. She was almost thankful, through the blinding pain, that she couldn't see what was coming.

But then she did, and a scream pierced the air.

She thought of her family and friends as she was hoisted upwards. This would be breaking them. She felt guilty, overwhelming guilty that her pain would cause them such grief. She wanted to show them that she couldn't be beaten, but as she was dragged along, there was none of that Acacia anymore. She was a victim trampled by this world she had no control of. A world that chewed up girls like her and spat them out, dead and destroyed in the wake of their terrible destruction.

Her mind drifted back to the barricades set up by the two Careers. They'd piled furniture with the intent to kill their former allies. The creatures around her had done something similar. Anything that was wooden they'd stacked up, until it had formed a sort of… pyre.

_Oh… Oh my god… _She started to cry, tears that made the stinging pain of her cuts burn even more. She gave one last attempt at her freedom by shaking wildly, left and right, digging her elbows in their decayed stomachs, clawing at their hollow eye-sockets. Nothing worked. She was restrained around the centre of all the wood and left to dangle, midway up a beam that was riddled with filth.

Her legs were tied round the bottom half, and her arms hoisted above her head as she was constricted entirely from any idea of movement.

"Mum…." She bit her lip, tears flooding her cheeks. "Dad… I'm so sorry…" She hated herself. She hated what she must have looked like. Nothing more than a weak tribute, fulfilling everyone's expectations of a girl her age. She would never have won. She was nothing more than a tribute way in over her head, deluded in believing she had a shred of a chance at coming out the end alive and well.

They were the very hopes and dreams a curious, carefree, adventurous Acacia would have had in Twelve. Victory was a dream. A child's wish, lost in this state of torture and agony.

They started to prod her with blunted weapons from afar, polearms that beat against her legs and arms. They were relishing in her pain. She had invaded their village, their homes, and now they were punishing her.

Her heart stopped when one of them pulled out a flaming torch and stepped forwards.

_I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… there's nothing I can do…_

It stepped forwards.

Acacia closed her eyes.

They could take away everything that made her the girl she once was. But in this final moment, she would show them her strength. She would live up to the impression she wanted the world to have, and die with some dignity.

This was the end.

She'd go out, proving them all wrong.

In death, she'd face it with courage. Girls like her were not weak.

They were strong.

* * *

The flames started to lick Acacia's feet, taunting her, but not quite consuming her entirely.

That didn't matter. The screams were far too real. Screams of a young, innocent girl, being tortured by beings created from the Capitol.

"I don't fucking think so."

They'd had a plan. They were going to wait. But it didn't matter anymore. A plan was nothing if Acacia ended up burnt to a crisp before they had a chance to rescue her.

Vallah threw herself forwards first, from the shadows, and impaled one of the mutts through the back and out through its ribs. It fell down in a congealed heap, flicking the switch for the action to turn on them. Every single mutt, even the torch-bearer, moved for the trio forced into the action to save their ally.

"STOP THAT FIRE!" Vallah roared, above the heads of the mutts.

The flames were slowly creeping up Acacia's skin. Her reaction was inhumane. Vallah was on the brink of tears, thinking how young she was, and how much pain she was in. Marshall wasted no time. Carson gave him a nod, threw himself at one of the mutts, and left Marshall to aid their youngest ally.

He bowled down one of the humanoid creatures, trampling its skull into the dirt until it shattered into shards of bone, and kicked over another one. His knife met the eye of a shorter mutt, reaching his waist as he threw it forwards, swept aside two or three more, and continued onwards for Acacia. He wasn't sure what was happening to him, but something was, and he was going with it. The flames were torturing a girl that did not deserve this fate.

No one did. Marshall's fear became nothing when consumed by a newfound burning courage. It drove him onwards as he leaped over a chair, grasped onto the beams of wood and hoisted himself up onto the pyre. The fire hadn't spread totally. There was still time.

From his backpack, he clumsily pulled out a water bottle.

"Hold on!" He yelled at Acacia.

She'd either blacked out and fallen unconscious, or she was lost in the agony tearing apart her legs. He carried on and doused the flames, pouring his last supplies all over it to save Acacia. He made it one more step, a smile from ear to ear, when something pulled him from behind.

The last thing he saw of his ally were the charred ruins of her legs, blistered and red. If he'd spent another second looking at them, he might have vomited. But one of the mutts had grabbed him. He was too distracted, now for his own survival, to focus on what would become of Acacia.

A few feet behind, Vallah and Carson were side by side, fighting through the tides of villagers. They would not give up. Vallah smiled when she saw the fire had been put out. Further on, flames licked the sky as the trees collapsed into ash, but that was distant. She could forget about what had happened there and focus on the here and now.

She shouldered past a mutt that tried to grab her collar and pushed it to the ground. With her foot, knowing how weak their bodies were, she drove her heel into its skull and moved on as it crumbled into bone and gore. Carson protected her back, impaling one through the ribs as it tried to swipe for his ally. Together, they were a good team. Not perfect, but good enough.

The Gamemakers wanted a show, with poor Acacia at the centre, and now their whole alliance united over this fight. He spared a glance to look at the wood, surrounding their young ally, and then at the wounds on her legs. It would be miracle if they could help her any longer. But Carson was not one to give up hope. He'd spent so much time training, surely he knew something to help her injuries. He wanted what was best for his allies. And what was best for himself. Right now, what would give him the advantage, was if his whole alliance left this battle alive and ready for their combined futures.

He swiped his arm out and stabbed one through the neck. When black blood doused out and choked him, he grimaced and slit the rest of its throat, all the way up to the right ear. He pushed it over before more blood could coat him and progressed onwards.

Vallah caught sight of Marshall, the two almost an inch from one another. Something had pushed him towards Acacia, adrenaline maybe, or the fear of seeing their ally's death. Now, he was being overwhelmed and consumed by the tide of their foes.

Vallah had come here to save Acacia. She would not lose a friend in the process. Marshall sighed with relief when one mutt close to severing his head was brought down with a spear through its neck.

"About time," he laughed, clapping her on the shoulder. Whatever had been a part of Marshall, his drive for this alliance, his plans, they became nothing. They were protecting him like he'd wanted. But he was protecting them, too. The thought of them dying made him just as scared as the thought of joining them, in the depths of whatever laid beyond. He didn't want that. He'd fight for this life, however shitty Panem was.

The villagers were being driven back. Acacia was unconscious, hoisted up the wooden beam and left to hang like a hunk of meat. The sight of what they'd done to her drove her three allies onwards. Carson split open the skull of a mutt that grabbed his shoes, its leg rotten and dripping with green and black blood as he ended its misery.

Vallah and Marshall, together through the fight, finished up the villagers that tried to escape. If they were left to run away, united in their disgusting misery and fury for the tributes, they'd come back. Vallah let her spear fly and killed a hunched over woman. Marshall ran forwards, tackled a mutt his height, and stabbed it through the face.

The area was cleared.

Though they were all exhausted, the three of them had to share only one congratulatory look for them to drive forwards for Acacia.

"We need painkillers or something. This… this is gonna fucking hurt," Vallah said, her voice on the edge of total panic. She'd dealt with fights all her life. She could deal with competition. But this… she didn't know this. Her skin was practically bubbling. How could something that looked so pretty, bright oranges, reds and yellows, be so dangerous?

She continued to shake her head as Marshall unpacked his backpack and took out a container filled with medicine. Vallah took it in her hands and started to go through it. Carson had his own water bottles to clean the cuts on her face, antiseptic that would burn, right at the bottom of his pack.

Vallah looked at Acacia, then at her two allies, and let the despair finally meet her face. "She won't… look at this." She nearly shouted. "I can't just see her die. She didn't deserve it. It's not fair!"

"We'll do what we can…" Marshall bowed his head and continued to rummage through his supplies for something.

It was Carson that finally took control and moved forwards for Acacia.

The youngest girl in the entire Arena was lost in a blackened blur that was ravaged with fire and flames. Somewhere trapped in her mind, she screamed and screamed as pain tormented her, burning her entire body… her friends… her family…

She'd tried to be so strong. Even in death, she had to face it with her head held high. But the moment the flames had met her legs, it had become too much. She was only thirteen. _Thirteen… _

Three of the villagers were creeping up on her. She thrashed and writhed, locked in a state of unconsciousness, a nightmare plaguing her and not letting her go. They were coming towards her. Fire in their hands. The fire was their hands. Their entire bodies were made of the horrible, vile creation from hell. They were going to hurt her, again and again. She couldn't…

"Acacia…" Something was shaking her. Not someone, it was something. Something horrible. Something vile that would only turn her into a shell of herself.

Acacia cried out loud when her eyes opened.

Her entire mind raced ahead, a red tinge creeping along her line of vision. Three people were in front of her.

_Three…_

The villagers…

She yelled and threw herself forwards, dropping down into the arms of her captors. She screamed and thrashed as they said her name, empty words that drifted over her head as they tried to hurt her once more. She wouldn't let them.

Vallah yelled when Acacia grabbed hold of Marshall's knife.

"ACACIA. IT'S US!"

Something had happened to her.

Something terrible.

It only became so much worse.

In the blink of an eye, before they could do anything, Acacia's broken form stabbed Carson in the throat. He fell backwards, eyes widening, and choked on the blood that showered out from the grisly wound and bubbled up his mouth and down his lips.

Vallah let go of Acacia as she screamed and moved for her dying ally. The girl from Twelve, the one they had saved, ran into the village and out of sight. Somehow she made it into the shadows on her blistered legs, nothing like the girl that had been moments ago, rooted in her conviction to prove herself. There was nothing left of what had once been.

Vallah clasped Carson's hand and felt the tears pour down her cheeks, meeting the red of his blood as broken breaths rattled out his torn throat. Marshall lingered in the background, solemn-faced, his eyes on their ally from Eleven.

He shuddered once, in Vallah's arms, and went still.

"No…." Vallah shook him. "NO!" She continued to plead into his body. Marshall watched until she collapsed backwards, drenched in his blood.

_Acacia…_

He looked at where she had ran.

She'd killed Carson. She'd killed someone that had tried to help her…

Their alliance had lost everything.

All because of a girl from District Twelve.

The youngest of them all.

* * *

They set forth from their dingy abode and back into the village.

Belarius looked at Ivo. Ivo looked at Belarius. A single, shared nod told them both what was about to happen.

Time to strike.

The two of them reached the intersection they'd scouted earlier, mapping out this part of the Arena to weave around in the chase that would soon ensue. If they got lost, they'd be dead before they could trigger the first domino of many in their plan. Belarius and Ivo had readied themselves for this moment. Simple mistakes would not cost them everything.

"We won't have much time when we set the first one alight," Belarius said as he pulled out the matches. The Capitol had been generous and supplied them with flammable liquid they'd already prepped over their blockades. Almost as an apology for their mutt attack, maybe. It was good to feel appreciated. "Get out and lead them this way."

"Whilst I do that, you'll trail them from the northern side and ensure they reach the centre." Ivo and Belarius had gone over it a thousand times before, mulling over little details, the smallest of things that could make everything fall apart.

The blockades were in a prime position. There was no going back. They shared another look, a look that united the two of them in their dedication for a needed outcome. Belarius had done his absolute best to be himself, way back when, drawing his allies round his Chariot to incite a sense of camaraderie rarely found in an alliance like theirs.

It hadn't worked.

Ivo had known from the start Belarius wouldn't stay. He'd taken the smarter route and left, knowing how much it would hurt following this path, but doing it anyway for the sake of their survival rather than their enemies. As close as they might have been, that was what they were.

Enemies to topple over.

"Hey," Belarius nodded at Ivo, rounding to go the opposite direction. "If anything happens, give 'em hell. You aren't dying without a fight."

"I wouldn't plan it any other way." Ivo smiled and gave him a small wave of his hand, before running forwards and out of sight.

As he sprinted down roads, sticking to the shadows, he thought back on everything and surprisingly didn't regret much. He'd found a friend. He'd made something of himself. And regardless of whether today was the day he finally took a life, he'd always been prepared to deal with it as it came and try to focus on the end-game, rather than changing for the worse.

Ivo kept his eyes forward, his focus on the present, and reached the house he knew the Careers had camped in.

They'd made it to their little wooden furniture mess. As Belarius would say, time to fuck them up.

Aurelie was on guard. It took maybe three seconds for her eyes to settle on Ivo. He made his eyes widen, the sword in his hand slip down slightly in pretend fear.

"Shit…" He turned to run, letting that single word tremble in the air once. He knew it would work. Belarius had said so. The trigger of their plan relied on Aurelie's pride. She had too much of it to let traitors make it out alive.

Somewhere on the other side of the houses, Belarius tagged the chase. He saw through the gaps in the ruined buildings as the blur of Ivo's running form was met with the pounding feet of four Careers, following after him. Luella and Prosper brought up the rear. It didn't take a genius to know something was up.

Belarius felt bad for the pair from One and everything they'd had to endure. But he'd taken the initiative and grasped for his life with Ivo as they left. Prosper and Luella were too kind for their own good.

As they started to turn left, away from the intended route, they kick-started everything into action. _Let's set this place on fire._

The entire blockade went up in flames. Luella gasped as she flailed forwards, away from the devastation. Aurelie gritted her teeth together and looked at the fleeing Ivo. She was muttering something to Darina, glaring at the fire that was pushing them onwards. As they turned to move back, Belarius triggered the lever that sent furniture toppling from the sidelines, off from the roof, cutting off their exit.

"I don't care what they're doing. We're killing theses bastards."

Belarius smirked. "Always had a way with words."

He thundered down the stretch of road he was on. Ivo had set fire to three or four of their traps, forcing the Careers down intended streets, towards the clearing where the ring of houses would stop them from going anywhere but standing their ground. Eliminating their options was the surest way to kill them all.

The adrenaline was what excited Belarius. He didn't get off on the idea of what he would soon do. But as Ivo continued his side of the plan, Belarius set the final stack of wooden furniture on fire and watched the fear settle over the Careers like a rain cloud, realization attacking their senses as they grew aware of what they'd been tricked into.

Ivo had vanished. He was behind the houses, before he'd set one of the traps on fire. One of the shorter buildings gave him the intended vantage point. As the four Careers settled within the end of the street, Belarius and Ivo stood, opposite sides, meeting each other's eyes, then glancing down at their victims below.

"Should have known." Aurelie tried to make herself sound composed. The fury was too easy to tell. Her eyes moved from Ivo to her District partner. "Can't even face us like real men."

"Real men would fight you, face to face." Belarius raised his bow, readying an arrow. "I prefer the idea of being a smart man. Smart men use their brains. That way, blind enemies like your sweet self have no idea what's about to slap them silly." He grinned, raised the bow, pulled the string, and-

"AURELIE!"

A long line of fire split off from behind them and cut the area in half. Belarius looked at Ivo, worry etched into his face. Gasoline might have spilled, or… _what the fuck is happening? _He watched the fire start to grow, splitting the Careers in half.

Luella dived behind Aurelie as the fire tried to burn her alive. Prosper was forced backwards, behind Darina, as they were pushed further into the right hand side.

Luella and Aurelie met each other's eyes, then watched Belarius move along the roofs, and ran side by side back the way they'd come.

"Well fuck me," Belarius sighed.

Things had just gotten complicated.

* * *

Their plan had turned to shit.

Aurelie's senses were on haywire. Underneath it all, however, that particular satisfying thought rained down a certain sort of happiness around her. Even amongst the chaos, Belarius' failures gave her peace.

Luella, on the other hand, was fighting to stay on two feet.

She kept looking over her shoulder as the fire cut her off from Prosper. It was driving him and Darina backwards, towards the furthest houses, away from the two of them. Luella knew she'd do anything to reach his side again. Even if it meant following Aurelie.

_Oh… _She looked at her leader from Two, a girl that so clearly hated her, and felt her stomach somersault with nerves. They had Belarius to worry about. But after that… Luella had to focus on the troubles she faced right now, in the present. If she worried about the after rather than the now, Belarius would kill her.

He was following them on the roofs of the houses. Some of them were less stable than the others. Those that seemed to quiver under his weight, he skirted round the edges and pushed forwards. Aurelie kept focused on the way in front. She would not be killed by some petty trap. Whether she was stuck with a moron like Luella, a girl who clearly hadn't realised that just because the title had the word Games in, didn't make it a place to party, she had a fight to win.

Belarius had always thought he was better than Aurelie. She had known the truth. He hadn't. Only one could make it out alive.

They soon reached the end of the stretch of road that took them away from the central ring, too far away to see Prosper and Darina. Luella looked up at Belarius, fear in the pit of her stomach, but she raised her knife nonetheless and watched him meet her eyes.

"It's called a knife," Aurelie sneered, looking at her feebler ally tremble as she looked at Belarius, on the rooftops.

"You always looked down on her," Belarius said, signalling to Luella. "Maybe she's stronger than you in other ways. Ways you don't understand."

"Does it matter? You're here to kill us both, aren't you?"

He smiled sadly, nodding his head. "That I am. We do what we have to do, don't we? I thought you off all people understood that the most."

"Oh I do," Aurelie glared daggers in the direction of Belarius. She hated his position in this fight. Above them, not on equal ground. At least Aurelie met steel with steel. She relished a proper, fair encounter. _Mainly because I win them all… _She laughed, looked at her ally, and nodded her head.

"You better be ready."

He fired his first arrow. It was easier to dodge as smoke blurred the view. A wind picked up which made it harder for Belarius to get a clear shot. Perhaps the Gamemakers didn't want him to have the total advantage. His plan hadn't gone entirely the right way, so he was paying the price. Aurelie thought of Darina and Prosper and moved on from them. They could handle Ivo. It wouldn't be too hard to pick the quiet boy off.

Belarius might fall apart if he died.

Too bad she would kill him before he had to deal with his death.

The arrows continued to rain down on Aurelie. As she dodged them and relished the fact some missed, Luella realised how he was going after his District partner, not her. She wasn't grateful for that. Soon enough, he'd turn on her. She'd been through so much already. She'd deluded herself to the point of volunteering for a death match she couldn't have come close to winning.

But that didn't mean she had to give up, even if today was the day she died.

Luella moved for Aurelie's side, gave her a nod, and advanced forwards. Belarius smirked and targeted Luella as she came towards the house. The wind made the flames catch onto the houses further down the line, moving for Belarius as he let an arrow loose.

Luella ducked behind a pile of debris and continued on. Her heart was hammering in her chest. Her eyes were bulging with the fear and nerves that left her in a state of emotional turmoil. She was a weakling. She was everything she'd never believed about herself because there had always been other good things to think about.

Aurelie watched her ally move on and frowned. _Guess she can do something after all. Even if she is unwillingly acting like bait…_

Aurelie went for the sidelines and started to climb up the side of the house. As soon as she did that, Belarius swivelled away from Luella and realised she'd gone. He swore out loud and set foot on the rooftop to his right. He continued on, as Luella watched him, knife in her shaking hand, and met Aurelie just as she climbed up high.

"Gotcha."

Belarius kicked her jaw backwards, as hard as he could. "I don't fucking think so."

When she yelled with pain and toppled backwards, for a moment, Belarius thought he was triumphant. Then her hand snaked round his leg and he shouted out loud. Aurelie dragged him down with her.

The two of them rolled in the dirt. Aurelie threw a punch that caught him in the nose. When it exploded with pain and blood that trickled down his upper lip, he spat in her eyes and brought his knee up to her stomach.

She let him free as she groaned in pain. He scrambled up and dove for his bow, just as Aurelie rose on her own two feet and ran for her spear. The two of them stood, face to face, weapons out. Luella watched the entire thing unfold.

She had the choice of staying where she was, or helping Aurelie.

Allies stuck together. They might not have been friends, but all her life, Luella had done things for those around her. She'd made them feel better. She'd understood. She'd empathized. Aurelie wasn't a bad person. She was just a girl that had to do what she had to do.

Luella respected that.

She skirted round Belarius and stood by Aurelie's side, knife in her hand.

"Luella…" She looked down at her ally from One and then met Belarius' eyes. He looked too smug for his own good.

"You've looked down at her right from the off." Belarius winked when Luella looked at him. "She's a tough one."

"And you're a patronizing bastard."

Aurelie readied herself to throw her spear. But Belarius was fast. With the arrow already set to fly, he pulled back on the string, held in a breath, and let loose.

Time seemed to fall to a standstill.

Luella looked at Aurelie, her ally's eyes widening as death flew towards her. Her mind drifted back to Prosper, where he was, fighting for himself and the concept of friends he so cherished. They were allies he had to protect. She admired him. He was everything she'd always thought she had inside of herself.

The Games had taken something from her. They'd broken a girl that had never believed she could break.

But now… now she had a chance to make a right from all the wrong.

_I was never going to win. _Luella smiled, looked at Aurelie, and as time sped up, she dove forwards and wrapped her arms round Aurelie's torso, her back to Belarius.

The arrow went straight through Luella's ribs.

Belarius dropped his bow. Aurelie looked into her ally's darkening eyes, a dream-like smile on her dying face, and stared aghast as she started to sag in their embrace.

"Run…"

A cannon shattered the silence.

Luella crumpled to the ground, dead.

Before Aurelie could say something. Before Belarius could do anything. Before anyone had the chance to make sense of Luella's sacrifice, thick rain clouds rolled in from under the crimson moon and showered down on the fire blocking Aurelie's path.

She was out of sight before Belarius could say her name.

_Luella saved my life…_

Aurelie's knees went weak.

She'd been so close to death. On the brink of the one thing she'd fought so hard to avoid. And now, here she was, alive and well.

But at the cost of Luella's life.

Aurelie was alone.

The Careers were over.

* * *

The three of them disappeared into the depths of the village.

Prosper watched with a heavy heart as Luella, side by side with Aurelie, were tracked by Belarius from above.

He didn't have time to dwell on his District partner. He looked at Darina and then up at Ivo, watching them from the roof of the house opposite. His eyes went from Darina, to Prosper, to behind them where the fire had cut them off. He must have been feeling the exact same way as Prosper. He was worried for Luella's wellbeing. Ivo was worried for Belarius'.

As Prosper's face contorted between emotion after emotion, Darina looked at the sword in her hand, then at the sword in her District partner's. She'd never wanted it to come down to this. Ivo wasn't a bad person. He didn't deserve to die, just as much as she knew she didn't want to die, or that anyone else really should have to suffer from such a fate.

But she was determined, as she always had been, to do what had to be done. If that meant Ivo's death, then so be it. She looked at Prosper and hoped in her heart that he was as ready as she was. Together, they were almost guaranteed victory. Apart, with Prosper's mind focused on something he couldn't control, one of them or both could die.

"I didn't think it would come down to this." Ivo seemed nervous. His grip on his sword was lax, nowhere near as controlled as he had seemed moments ago when he'd had his friend nearby. Ivo either leeched off Belarius' confidence, or without him, the quiet boy from the beginning took control and there was nothing to be done. Darina pitied him.

"Don't kid yourself." She didn't say it happily, or spitefully like Aurelie would have. "I said it yesterday, and I'll say it again. What's done is done. No point focusing on what's happened."

Ivo nodded grimly. "Shit plan, huh?"

Prosper laughed, snapped out from his train of thought. He'd always liked Ivo. Even now, as the enemy, he still did. "It wasn't a bad plan at all. Apparently either you didn't do it right, or the Gamemakers wanted a little bit more fun and spiced things up." He glanced over his shoulder at the wall of fire, stuck in place, cutting him off from the beyond. They had one choice and one choice only. Fight, kill, and then be given the chance to escape.

"Good luck," Ivo said, smiling. "Maybe I shouldn't wish you that, but-"

Darina hated herself for cutting him off, but talk was a distraction. Talk held back the inevitable. She had put away her sword for a belt of knives. The first one skimmed his feet, up on the roof. He might have been overlooking them, but by being such a clear target, he was easier to get a hit at. Ivo yelped when her second blade cut into his toes.

He fumbled for his bow, but Prosper caught on and threw his own knife. Ivo had a choice. Fall backwards and be encased in fire, or jump down and join the fight. Face to face. A true exchange of skill.

He went for the latter. Ivo sighed and launched himself from the roof. It wasn't a hard fall. He rolled forwards, held onto his sword, and dove straight for Darina. As hard as it was to meet his blade, Darina matched it as best she could, pulling her blade free and wincing at the resulting steel on steel clash. Her knife grazed his shoulder as she stabbed forwards.

He pulled free, cut the air above her head, then rounded on Prosper.

As hard as it was to focus on anything but Luella, he was doing this for her. If he died now, Luella had no one to help her through what she was facing. Prosper had given his time to bettering himself to be a part of the Games, way back when he'd started training. But he'd always done so with a smile and a bright heart, helping anyone who needed help. He cared for people. Now he was in the Games, he realised he cared a little too much.

But he couldn't just change in a heartbeat. He'd killed, and gradually, realised the cost of everything and what had to be done. He could still look after those he cherished. Luella was somewhere else. Right now, Darina relied on him. He wouldn't let her down.

His spear went over Ivo's head as he ducked under it and went for Prosper's stomach. He brought his knee up and met the nose of Ivo, biting his tongue as his opponent shuddered with pain. Darina stepped up and brought her elbow down, smashing into his spine. He remained on his feet and slid backwards, on his heels and away from Darina's following swipe of her sword.

He was fast. Maybe not the best with weapons, but on his feet, he was a true fighter. Darina held a great amount of respect as she continued on the offensive. The heat of the fire was tiring her out, but she exerted herself to her fullest potential, like a true Career, and remained as focused as she always had been. Even switched off, Darina never let go.

Ivo met her swipe for his knees, brought his sword up to contest with the blow for his neck, and then attempted to cut her from shoulder to stomach. She anticipated it and blocked his next attack. Prosper could have let the spear fly from his hands like he had done yesterday. But with Darina so close to where he might hit, he couldn't risk hitting her.

He'd killed those he had to kill. Darina was a death for another day.

As long as he wasn't the one to do it, he would be alright. He could deal with the idea that his friends had to die if it meant survival. _Except Luella…_

"You're… good…" Ivo was losing stamina. His speed left him with little endurance. Darina had scored one point higher than him in training and it was showing. As Prosper protected her from behind in case Ivo tried to be sneaky, Darina continued to beat away at his head, torso, legs and arms. She was relentless.

"I'm sorry."

She was as determined as she had always been. Ivo grunted when her blade slashed open his shoulder. He brought his fist up and smashed her in the cheek. He took no pleasure in the resulting screech of pain. But all he had to think about was the plan, about Belarius, about everything he'd accepted in himself and what he had to do. It gave him his own sense of drive.

Darina was the better fighter. But Ivo, in his own way, had a more powerful strength that she couldn't match. Something innate within him.

He lowered his sword, let her cut open his other shoulder, and pushed her backwards. She stumbled and fell. Prosper helped her up, but Ivo was taking control of the situation now. He swiped away Prosper's attacks, met Darina's clumsy swipes for his life, until they were steps away from the fire.

Belarius. His family. His friends. Everyone. _And me… I'm doing this for me… _He might have shied away from the spotlight all his life. Now he was taking control of everything. He was playing the part, being who was expected to be.

When Darina made one last attempt to decapitate him, he went under her attack and drove a fist into her face at the same time as he slashed her stomach open. She buckled in pain, and before Prosper could leap to her defence, he threw her backwards and into the fire.

The moment she met the flames, the agonised screams pierced his dedication. He almost went to save her. Prosper tried but to no avail. Ivo ran backwards, to the house he'd jumped down from, and pulled his bow free.

As she burned alive, he let an arrow loose and it punctured her chest. She died as the flames licked her body and Prosper stood, wide-eyed and motionless, lost for words.

One cannon sounded, followed by another a few seconds after. Prosper gazed up at the sky. Something went through his eyes. Rain clouds rolled and started to extinguish the fires. The one Ivo had pushed Darina into continued to burn as the rest were slowly put out.

He hoisted himself up onto the roof and dropped down into safety.

In a matter of minutes, Belarius found him and together they set off, away from what they had done.

Two Careers down.

It wasn't a job complete, but it was close.

Neither could say a word as they contemplated what they'd done. Luella's sacrifice. Darina's shrieks as the fire torched her body.

The end of the day was nigh.

Both of them needed their sleep.

They needed an escape from what today had brought.

* * *

As Ryon walked by the still black water, lapping his worn shoes, he thought back over his time in the Arena.

With everything thrown his way, there was one link between it all. Something that had driven him to this point, assured him of his survival, and given him a chance. Victory. His entire journey had been paved with a sense of hope for reaching the end and turning his life around.

When he'd left Varity, he'd done it for his survival. He'd rescued Dante because he'd found a friend to help him make it further, together, side by side. He fought against Lucas and his own District partner because he was too scared to just give up and die.

He hadn't lost his morality. In fact, through everything, he'd patched something together that resembled a new Ryon he was finally accepting.

But this was the next stage. As three faces lit up the red sky above him, reflecting on the still, motionless water, he knew his next plan. It infused hope for his victory with the desire to fight for himself. It was a new turn. A bad turn. Ryon looked to the sky, sighed, and fell against the sandy shore.

He ran his fingers through the grains, letting them fall back through and down to his feet. Alone, he could do so much. Alone, there was less to lose. He was fighting for himself now, with no one else nearby. He missed Varity and Dante, but in someways, he was doing this for them as well. No one deserved to be forgotten. It was one of Ryon's biggest fears.

"I'll give you what you want." He looked to the sky, almost as if he was pleading to the audience in the Capitol, the Gamemakers and everyone in charge. "I'll play the part. I'll be a tribute. Lucas and Adrina, they took something from me. But I fought them and I'm still here. I can give you more. I just need a little help…" His voice cracked on the last words. He didn't want to hurt them. But now, it was every man and woman for themselves. He had no alliance. No connections tethering him to a false idea of companionship.

The Capitol would relish a fight between the boy who had lost his ally, and the two people that had taken his life from him. District partner against District partner was a sweet side to add on top. Ryon was doing what he had to do. He'd find them, stalk them, do everything that Dante and him had done to begin with but a thousand times better. They wouldn't expect it. He'd plot the best way to bring about their end because that was what survivors did.

No more grovelling in the dirt, wishing for the world to stay static and constant. Change could be a good thing. With every ounce of his being, he would fulfil a life that he'd taken for granted and make something of himself.

That was the new Ryon.

There was a soft pinging sound, a gentle melody in the air as a parachute swayed through the sky and landed at his feet. Two more soon arrived. The Capitol had answered his call.

He grinned at the fresh water and newly baked food that had been given down for him, to replenish his health. A belt of clean, shining knives. A sword that would strap to his back. He was way out of his depth, with no idea how to use any weapons, but having them gave him a sense of power. He had control over his life and the lives of those that had to die for him to win.

Ryon looked to the sky, then at his feet, and finally at the sword in his hands.

He didn't like this new life.

But hope for an end, way into the future, where he could grow old and live long, gave him the necessary drive to be whoever he had to be.

There was no turning back.

He'd found the path to victory.

* * *

Luella was dead.

Prosper had ran and not stopped since the end of the fight. He'd cried after her face appeared. The tear-stains were still bright under his eyes, illuminated in the bloody glow of the moon above. Its light didn't give him any comfort.

Maybe a while ago, losing something that had meant a lot, Prosper would have begged for the darkness to swallow him whole. Better that than face reality.

But alongside all the anguish and sadness that cut him into pieces, there was something deep and monstrous festering under the layers of sorrow.

Anger.

Prosper clenched his fists and unclenched them. Aurelie killed Luella. He didn't need to think it through. He didn't need to have proof of the matter. He knew, in his gut, that the vile witch had finally done what she'd wanted to do for such a long time.

_The fight… _He shook his head. Maybe there had been a fight, maybe it made sense that Belarius had been the one who killed her. But it didn't. Not in Prosper's head. All this time, she'd hated the humanity inside of Luella. The idea that she wasn't everything she'd expected and craved in a Career. The fact that Luella wasn't a walking talking killing machine had bothered Aurelie right from the off.

And now, such a sweet, lost soul had been killed because of some awful girl's understanding of the world.

Yesterday, Prosper had been angry, but he'd understood Aurelie.

Now. Now, angry didn't come close to how he felt.

Prosper had only one wish, with his friend now gone from this world.

He would be the one to take her life.

He would kill Aurelie Bauden.

* * *

_**Carson Perrett, District Eleven Male.**_

_**Luella Aslett, District One Female.**_

_**Darina Pallone, District Four Female.**_

* * *

**Lupus. I feel like I didn't do Carson justice. I apologise for that, but what I did write of his character, I enjoyed immensely. He was one of the only tributes to actually try his absolute best during training, something that showed a more perfectionist side of himself. He was attached and detached at the same time, alongside his determination to be strong. He wanted the best of his allies, but he was also scared of becoming too close because he had to survive. His alliance really brought out the friendly side that was the foundation of his character. He'll be missed!**

**Pauric. Ugh. Luella. Luella was so adorable. Like, yeah you know by now that the tributes you submit to me are the kinds that I really enjoy. They aren't made for the Games, but there's always development in those types that comes out as they grow and grow. Luella took an opposite turn from the usual. She wasn't necessarily deluded, more she was just so normal in her attitude towards other people and herself, that the shock of the Games was too much. She wasn't prepared, but she'd always been there for others, and in her final moments, I wanted it to hint back at the girl that entered the Games before she started to break. Loved her!**

**Teddy. Another Career I enjoyed! She was hard to kill, like everyone has been so far, but it made the most sense to me that I brought her to an end with this chapter. She was friendly and everything that contrasted well with Aurelie, but there was that desire and fight in her that gave her an edge some of the other tributes didn't have. She wanted more for herself because she was in her heart quite the perfectionist, but I liked that side of her a lot. Yeah, she was the foundation of the Careers since the Games started. She stopped them falling apart right from the beginning, something without her I'm sure would have happened much earlier. Thanks for submitting her!**

* * *

**So, there we have it. The Career alliance is no more!**

**I can't tell if I'm pleased with how it actually came out when I typed words. I knew how I wanted it to play out, but put into the story, I can't tell if it worked quite as well. I'll let you guys be the judge. Oh, I should mention, Luella/Aurelie/Belarius, sort of ran parallel with Prosper/Darina/Ivo. I'm sure you all knew that, but thought I'd clarify!**

**A fast update, sure. But I think that's pretty much the norm and has been for a long time.**

**Thanks for reading, all the support really helps :)**


	24. Fantasy

**Chapter Twenty-Four.**

* * *

The Arena looked different to when it was aflame.

Adrina hadn't been keen on the idea to begin with. The thought of burning the tributes' escape route was a smart one. Too smart. Cruel, some might think. But those tributes that might use the exit, could one day, be her very alliance with Lucas.

Now, with a third of the Arena dealing with the blaze that had stormed through the buildings, she was beginning to see the truth behind what Lucas had done. He'd had no choice. It was either the two of them stayed in the trees, stationary and boring, waiting for the action to come and overwhelm them. Or take control and make something of themselves.

They weren't good people. A short time ago, Adrina might have hated that about her. The fact she couldn't be better than she really was. Now, looking at Lucas, confident in himself, radiating with a spark that had been lit in his eyes, Adrina was coming to recognise the advantage in such a thing. Being a bad person might very well get her out of this dump alive.

Lucas met Adrina's eyes and gave her a small nod of his head. They were on the outskirts of the village, looking in from somewhere nearer the base of the first sand hill. There were blood stains near to the Cornucopia, spilt through the first act of carnage that had turned the tributes' worlds upside down.

Lucas didn't revel in the sight of what had happened. But neither did he feel sad about it. Death was a necessary part of the Games, and a necessary part of his own life if it meant he got to keep it. He saw something in Adrina's eyes that told him she knew that honest truth as well, however hard it might be to accept.

"Two Careers dead. The pack split from the very beginning." A boy with less control than Lucas might have felt giddy. He almost did. The outer Districts almost had the advantage over those that had trained. They weren't as fantastic as they might have thought coming into the Arena. "All we have to do is reach out and take it. We'd control the main part of the Arena."

Adrina's eyes fell on the bundles of supplies the Careers hadn't taken with them on their trek into the village. Out hunting, probably. Their hunt had turned to bloodshed which left two of their own dead. Lucas and Adrina both knew Luella wasn't the ideal early death. They could take on the girl that matched one of their training scores.

But Darina's death was a good thing. Neither shared an external smile over the death of a teenage girl, but they felt it inside of them nonetheless. Career death meant they had a higher chance of living. Whether that was a morbid thought or not, in the Arena, morbid was practically their oxygen supply. They had nothing else to do but breath in all the death and awful decisions they'd have to make and live with it if they wanted a chance of making it out alive.

Both Lucas and Adrina very much wanted that chance.

They tried very hard not to be suspicious of the other. For the time being, it was working. But they weren't blind. Adrina had to die for Lucas. Lucas had to die for Adrina. Eventually, the time would come.

"It'll paint a target on our backs."

Lucas smirked. "Sometimes a target can be a good thing."

"Oh really?" Adrina laughed, nerves biting away at her throat. Sometimes she thought Lucas relished the rush of near death experiences. Sometimes she thought he was a crazy fool. Other times she couldn't help but respect him. Admire him, even. "Having the tributes come done on us in droves is a good thing, huh?"

"Sometimes." Lucas nodded. "Gives us a chance to prove ourselves."

"You live off what other people think, don't you?"

Something flashed in Lucas' eyes. Amongst all that respect Adrina felt, she also knew fear was a major emotion brewing within her stomach. She kept that down and laughed at the expression he pulled. His cheeks went red and he tried to laugh with her.

"When you have the whole of Panem watching you from the comfort of their own homes, betting on who gets to live," he shrugged his shoulders, "yeah, opinion does matter."

"We set the forest on fire. We basically destroyed a big chunk of the Arena. No one's ignoring us. We had a fight. We've done things, Lucas."

"The Gamemakers might be pissed we destroyed their wondrous creation."

Adrina shook her head. "If they were pissed we'd know about it. Believe me."

"I know." Lucas stood up, using his sword to help him onto his feet. "It was just a thought."

"It's nice to hear you speak. You don't often do that outside of your bright ideas."

Lucas turned to face Adrina and smirked. He rolled his shoulders confidently and tilted his head back, gesturing to the golden horn further down the hill, closer to the first line of houses.

"That's another one. Come on. All those supplies. We could drag them all over here and we'd have a vantage point over the entire village. No one could sneak up on us."

Adrina thought it over. If there was another thing she knew of her ally, it was his impatience. When he had an idea, there was no talking it out of him. His way was the right way and that was final. The annoying thing was his way was in fact usually the right way. She didn't regret giving him control. He was fair when he had to be fair. Cruel when he had to be cruel.

Adrina realised, as she nodded her head and conceded to their taking over of the Cornucopia, that perhaps her greatest foe didn't lie further within the Arena. Or outside, somewhere in the Capitol as they pulled her strings and moved her around like a puppet.

Perhaps her greatest foe was standing right in front of her.

Lucas Roux.

* * *

Ryon spent half of the morning walking the shoreline.

His eyes went between the calmness of the peaceful water lapping his shoes, to the desolation of the village to his left. A fire had ravaged the centre, some of the flames still curling into the sky where the rain clouds had faded away.

It was all part of the Gamemakers and their tricks and traps. They had the control. Ryon was scared of them and what they could do to him at the press of a button. The Arena made those worries grow ever stronger. But rather than think on something he couldn't foresee, he continued his path north and let those fears drift away.

Lucas and Adrina had set the forest on fire. Even here, the black smoke billowing from the charred tree limbs could be seen. He didn't need telling who or what did it. His future opponents were smart. He just had to be smarter.

Rather than charge into a full on battle, he'd give it time. He had his weapons. He had the backing of the Gamemakers; hopefully they were patient enough to allow him hours, maybe even a few days, to canvas the Arena and prepare for the upcoming fight. He knew, in his gut, that maybe he did have what it took. He was no warrior. No prized fighter belonging to some kind of elite force. He was just Ryon Blythe of District Six.

Hopefully that would be enough.

After all, Adrina was just Adrina Lear of the same roughed up world. Lucas was Lucas Roux of a District that probably fared worse than either of them. In someways, it was easier to be optimistic of his future if he remembered who he was fighting. They were tough, but so was he. Dante had died. Varity had died. But Ryon was still alive.

That had to count for something. Only time would tell.

He continued his path, kicking up sand and sporadic pebbles embedded into the damp shoreline. He could almost let his mind wander adrift, like a little boat setting sail into the waters. He'd never look back if he had the chance. But he had no choice. Ryon didn't want to just say to himself, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he could grow up and focus. He actually wanted to do it.

This path he'd laid out for himself needed a proper, controlled and dedicated mind. He didn't have the time nor the patience to forget about the present and think about hopeless fantasy. Ryon shoved his hands in his pockets, gave the silent ocean one last warm stare and smile, and picked up the pace.

The shore curved inland further up. Rocks jutted out from the base of the sand hill, somehow keeping it in place by some imaginary force. Waves frothed and thrashed against the steep incline. He made sure to turn into the village as he ventured further on.

Soon, he made surer footing on the dry earth of the main part of the Arena, and deciding to head north some more, he continued onwards. As Ryon progressed, he saw the smoke drift up to the clock tower and dissipate further on in the sky. They were encased in some kind of force-field, he knew that much. Ryon had felt trapped most of his life, seeking a much sought after freedom. Now he was in the epitome of a cage, Ryon and the rest of the tributes acting as little mice scurrying for hope that only one of them would find.

He hated the feeling. Maybe he did have the Gamemakers support for now, but how long until they moved on and found pleasure in watching another puppet run on their little legs towards a fight they shouldn't even be fighting in the first place? All his life he'd wanted to just be a normal kid. Maybe he'd lost friends that way. Maybe his desires got the best of him and pushed those away that he should have let in.

Whatever the case, it was too late for the past. He only had his future. And the Arena, contained in this godforsaken bubble, was his present that would lead to this new future. The lack of company did something for Ryon's state of mind, at least. He slowly broke free from the line of houses and found himself standing in front of a structure made from stone. The peace and quiet did wonders for Ryon. He missed his allies, his friends, but now he had only himself to worry about.

Something he'd done all his life.

Though the sight before him was foreboding, Ryon carried on under the stones that met in an upwards arc, guiding him in the direction of something lower down in the earth. He crossed the threshold between the ruined village behind, and the surprisingly morbid, yet clean and precise structure of some kind of tomb.

"Damn." His eyes went towards the coffins in the centre, then up at the ceiling. Strange how a place of death happened to be the only place that didn't seem like it. Out there, mud and dirt and violence clotted the air with such an overwhelming stench, the reprieve such a tomb gave him made him shudder.

Something didn't feel right.

His hands lightly grazed the rim of the only open coffin. For a moment, he knew he was missing something. Only for a moment. Ryon's eyes found the carvings in the wall that unbeknownst to him had already been seen by three others. He took the words in and frowned.

Gears turned in his head. The empty confines of such a coffin suffocated him as he realised what he had to do. The sword and the knives. The fresh food and clean water. He had so much that some of the others may never find.

He had the advantage, and now he had a place to find something more. Something that may give him everything he'd need to win.

_This is where it must take place… _

Up until now, he'd been running. Running without a purpose. Now he had one, however wrong it might be. Lucas and Adrina would win on a fight that fell under their terms. If he met them on ground that they were adjusted to, then he could very well die. But here, in this tomb, a place he believed no one had discovered yet, he had a chance.

Lucas had a smart mind, a smarter mind than Ryon did. Adrina had a resilience he found admirable. But Ryon could have them in just as much capacity. With his head in reality and not in the clouds, Ryon grasped the present in both hands and set out for his future.

A fight was coming.

He'd found the battleground.

* * *

A week ago, Marshall wouldn't have cared.

Carson was a boy from District Eleven that had had to die for him to win. He was nothing more than a shield to guard Marshall's life as he fought, side by side, unaware of the boy from Five's true heart.

A week ago, Marshall would have been willing to topple over the whole of Panem if it meant his life.

A week ago, everything made sense.

He looked at Vallah, his last remaining ally as she twirled a piece of her hair round her finger, absent-mindedly staring at the ground, a thousand miles away. He wanted to say something. But what possible words would rectify such a situation? Their alliance had been everything to her. As competitive as she had been. As willing to fight for not just her friends but herself. None of that changed the golden heart beating inside her chest.

Marshall was nothing more than a craven. But he'd been learning. His own life meant everything to him, and growing up, no one mattered when they stood between him and his next ambition. In the Games, the greatest ambition was victory.

But now…

_Acacia. _The little girl from Twelve. Everyone's prediction as a bloodbath. A sweet, friendly, innocent girl who was tortured into snapping and becoming something, if she was lucid, would tear her apart from the inside out.

Marshall knew he couldn't blame her. He knew that deep down, she'd never meant to hurt anyone. A girl like her only wanted peace and love and laughter.

But the Marshall that had become something for his alliance, his limitations stretching out and embracing this new side to how he saw things. This new Marshall couldn't… he couldn't make sense of it. She'd killed an ally. Everything Marshall had found inside him had fallen apart in one single motion. A knife to the throat and he was seeing reality for what it really was. What it always had been.

It was just him and him alone in this world. His black heart that had started to turn gold had finally started to shrivel up once more.

Everyone had to die.

If he wanted to win… no one else but him could survive.

Vallah moved. Marshall was snapped out of his thoughts as she stood up on shaky legs, grabbing onto the table and balancing herself out. He tried to offer her a smile when she looked his way. It didn't work. Up his lips went, twitching in the war that raged through his head, and down Vallah's eyes went, searching the floor for something to make the pain go away.

"I can't make any promises," Marshall said, forcing himself forwards in her direction. "Someone better than me might tell you things will be alright."

Vallah's lip started to tremble. "You're still here. In my eyes, that means no one is better than you."

"Carson was." Marshall said it before he could stop himself. The truth was a hard pill to swallow. Vallah's eyes shone with tears and memories. Funny how teenagers their age worked. Friends were everything as they struggled through the tests that growing up threw their way.

It was easier to connect than become someone false.

Marshall felt something in his heart for Vallah. Even Acacia. Carson especially, his dead bloody body plaguing his every waking moment. He couldn't close his eyes without bubbles of blood soaking into the forefront of his mind. Such a simple boy, choking on his life as it was slowly snuffed away as he tried to save someone else's.

It wasn't fair. Marshall knew unfair better than anyone. He stood up and placed a hand on Vallah's shoulder, bent down to level his eyes with hers, and took her hand in his.

"We need to find her."

Her eyelids fluttered shut. Her breathing was heavy, he could practically hear her heart thudding in her ribcage as her body dealt with yesterday's tragedy. When they opened again, her lips twitched upwards into a sad, accepting smile. "We do."

"I don't know what will happen…"

"We saved her once," Vallah used Marshall's shoulder to stand on her own two feet. "Maybe we can save her again."

"Maybe," Marshall lied.

As they ventured out into the open, musky air, Marshall's thoughts went one way then the next. There was no hope for Acacia. No hope for what they'd shared since the Games had started. Whatever fantasy Marshall had actually accepted into his heart, he was realising the truth and folly behind his actions. The whole purpose was to live and he'd forgotten that.

Carson's death was showing him the wrong, yet necessary path onwards. It killed Marshall, having to accept it. Having to live with the knowledge of what would soon happen. Nothing in life was fair.

Vallah herself struggled to keep a confident front on. She was trying for the sake of Marshall as well as herself. As long as she could try to keep her head high and smile on her lips, then Carson's cheerful, friendly manner would live on through them. She'd never planned on becoming so engrossed in someone else's life that she forgot what she'd told her family. What she'd promised to herself.

But the truth was, no one could predict the future. Vallah was just a normal, run-of-the-mill girl from District Nine who kicked a ball around, played in the dirt and went on her adventures because life needed a little bit of fun. Making friends was an inevitability. And she'd done just that, let the alliance and bond between them all flourish, only to see it topple down in the worst way possible.

It was Acacia's fault. But unlike Marshall, Vallah didn't see it the way he did.

She was completely oblivious to what was happening inside her ally's head. She'd changed him for the better. Marshall was grateful for that. But now, they'd reached a fork in the road where one path led to death and one led to the end of this treacherous journey. Vallah and Marshall were on complete opposite sides of reality.

Marshall knew. Vallah did not.

She looked over her shoulder at her ally, following behind her. When they met eyes, he smiled. It was a gesture that made Vallah's heart flutter. There were traces of Carson in that smile. Something infectious about his attitude that the two of them shared, now, together.

"You know where she is?"

Vallah nodded. "We both do."

"Back to where it all started." He tried to laugh. It was a hollow sound, but Vallah accepted it and held it close anyway. Side by side, they walked deeper into the village, back the way they'd come. From one end to the other, moving for the little house where they'd shared stories and their alliance had become a friendship.

It took another hour for the two of them to reach the little door. One look between them and it sealed the deal. Vallah took the lead, as she always did, remnants of the leader she'd always been flickering inside her like a dormant volcano. She pushed the door open slowly and peered her head round.

Her heart froze and blood ran cold at the sight before her. Marshall pushed in and held back a startled gasp.

Acacia was lying on the floor, shaking and quivering, a cold sweat dripping down from her forehead and over her nose. The table had been toppled over. Her hands were bloody, shards of plates and glass showering the floor. Her legs were stretched out as her chest struggled to cope with the pain that ran rampant through her body, overtaking everything like a poison.

Vallah and Marshall stepped forwards. They saw Carson in the way she looked at them. They saw Carson, dying on the ground, his cannon in the sky, as Acacia fled the scene of the murder. Something told them this was different. She knew who they were.

"Vallah…" Her voice was as soft as a whisper. Pain gripped her heart and she shuddered, holding onto a chair leg to keep herself steady and awake. She was minutes from blacking out. Seconds, maybe. Marshall looked at the ground and then at his hand. _There's no other way… _"Marshall…"

"It's us." Anyone else might have hated the poor girl for what she'd done. But in that moment, hearing her agonized, tormented voice, Vallah's anger vanished entirely. The Capitol had done this to her. They'd killed Carson. Acacia was the vessel they had chosen to control. A poor body they chose to cut up and burn for some sense of sick satisfaction. They deserved to die. Not her.

"I…." She swallowed something in her throat. Vallah and Marshall tried to keep their eyes off her legs. "I… I'm so… so sorry…" When she started to cry, Vallah enveloped her in her arms and nestled her head into the crook of her neck.

Marshall watched the two of them, like sisters, like best friends, sob together as they remembered the memory of a boy that had been taken before his time. And he hated himself. Marshall wanted nothing more than to go back to the boy that had existed yesterday, the boy that had torn through a horde of mutts because he was trying to be some dumb hero that didn't care for his life as much as he did his friends'.

That boy still lived. And it was because he still lived that Marshall's entire body wracked with pain as he stepped forwards. There was only one way to survive. Acacia was dying. Acacia had killed. And Vallah… the way Marshall felt towards the one girl that had led their team through everything told him that what he was about to do was right. The way he felt towards Vallah would kill Marshall if he didn't… if he didn't…

Acacia smiled up into Marshall's eyes and reached out a hand.

In Vallah's mind, they were a family again. They were a team that could cope with what had been done and move on, friends no matter the harshness of their world. The Capitol had tried to break them and the Capitol had failed.

When the two naïve girls realised what was about to happen, by the time they could do anything to stop it, it was already too late.

In one swift movement, Marshall's wrist bent forwards and his knife went soaring straight into Acacia's heart. The cannon was instantaneous. The youngest girl, tortured into momentary insanity, plagued by something no one deserved, was dead.

Vallah looked at Marshall. Marshall looked at Vallah.

She screamed and the door flew open.

They were not alone.

* * *

"Oh."

Rell's eyes landed on Acacia's dead body. Cillian and Eveny looked over her shoulder, stood behind her in the doorway, and felt their awful, twisted plan fall to ruin.

The boy from Five looked between their alliance, Acacia's body, Vallah's shaking form on the floor next to her, and at his own hands. In that moment, they knew what had happened. He'd killed Acacia.

Vallah opened her mouth. Rell could tell she was on the edge of falling apart entirely. Overlooking the cliff edge and ready to take the jump and be swept away by the tide. She stood up on two legs and then tumbled back down to the ground. A broken sob echoed up into the rafters of the house they were sheltered in.

Marshall looked at Rell, leading her alliance into the building, and then at her two allies.

His eyes drifted back to Vallah and a pained, regretful noise broke free from his throat. "I'm so sorry." Before Rell could defend herself, he launched himself through the trio and out into the village, turning round a corner and out of sight.

They were shocked to silence as they dealt with what was a few feet from them. Cillian, in his head, was silently grateful. Grateful that they hadn't been the ones to kill the poor girl, lying in her own blood, her legs a burnt ruin. _No one deserved that… no one deserves what we were going to do to her… _But he knew, as he looked at Eveny, and at the way Rell's back was straightening, that this wasn't the end of the matter.

He was no fool. He didn't believe he could hide away forever in the corners of some make belief world and wish away the darkness and monsters. They had to kill and they were on the very brink of doing so. But as sad as the sight inside the house was, Vallah's arms cradling the dead girl in her lap, he couldn't help but feel that he could try to lie to himself a little bit longer.

He was working harder than he'd ever worked before to keep himself intact. And now, they had the chance to turn back around and continue on before either of them broke. But Rell and Eveny were not like Cillian. As much as they cared for him, they smothered down how much they might have cared for their own humanity because it meant survival.

"I'm so sorry for what's happened," Rell spoke up, timid at first, then settling herself on her two feet confidently and meeting Vallah's tortured eyes. "It's not right what we're forced to do."

"Forced…" Her voice sounded strangled. Heavy with grief. Yesterday she'd had something. Today she had nothing. "No one forced Marshall to… to… why would he do that?"

The three of them wanted to say something to make sense of the situation for her. But they didn't know Marshall. The one encounter Rell had had with him told her something dark. He'd seemed different after meeting Vallah. The boy that had stood, looking between his foul deeds and the person he cared for, was not the boy that had laughed her off during training.

"Sometimes we do things that might not seem like they make sense," Eveny started, stepping forwards, her shoulder brushing past Rell, "but in our minds, it does on some level. It has to, otherwise we'd convince ourselves out of it. I'm sure he had a… he had a reason…"

"A reason?!" Vallah stood up and looked down at Acacia's body, jabbing a finger in her direction. "Someone like Acacia is captured and hung up to burn, tortured beyond anything, broken into a million pieces and then killed by her ally, and you say there was a reason behind it!"

Cillian's instincts were kicking in. He wanted to stop Vallah before she did something. He wanted to stop Eveny as she tried to control someone she had no idea how to help. Rell, though, took another step forwards and raised her hands defensively.

"You need to leave."

Vallah's mouth quirked up into the faint beginnings of a snarl. "I need to what?"

"Leave."

Rell was growing bolder by the second. Boldness in conflict with grief would not lead to a happy ending. Cillian tried to brush forwards but Eveny gave him one look and shoved him backwards, frowning apologetically. He didn't understand like they did. Or he did, and Eveny and Rell just knew so much more about what they were willing to do. The tomb still needed filling. They could still reap the rewards of being dreadful people that did things for their survival.

"I'm not leaving her…" She pointed back down, sobbing as her eyes landed on her bloody chest. "She might have killed him but she hadn't meant to… we do things… they make us do things…"

Rell and Eveny moved for her, shoulder to shoulder, playing the defensive when Cillian could tell an attack was seconds away from happening. Neither wanted to do what they knew was coming. Rell had made promises. Eveny had made promises. They were united together, but that meant everyone else were enemies.

Enemies that got in the way of living.

"Vallah, I am genuinely so sorry for what happened. We're not… we're not from their world." Rell gestured to some far off camera, gritting her teeth together as she realised how angry she felt about the people that had put them here. Had caused Acacia's death, however indirectly. Marshall may have held the knife. But the Capitol had made him throw it. "We need you to leave. We do and I'm so sorry that you have to. You know what happens if you don't… that's not us being cruel, it's us being real."

"Please," Eveny said, straight-faced and calm on the outside, panicked and pained on the inside. Cillian could only watch with wide-eyes and a frantic heart, thundering inside his chest as the pieces slowly came together. The situation would either end peacefully, or it would end in the worst way possible. "Please, just… just go…"

Vallah had the choice laid out in front of her. Maybe an hour ago, with Marshall, she'd have done anything for the wellbeing of what was most important to her. But now… now, with Acacia's body at her feet, and everything she'd ever tried to pretend wouldn't get in the way of survival but had, crumbling down into ash… now none of it seemed to matter.

"No." She shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere."

She launched herself at Rell, bringing a fist straight for her nose. She hadn't recovered from Garner's attack those few short days ago. When her knuckles met her face, Rell yelped with pain and drove her own punch into Vallah's stomach, winding her completely.

Cillian had one of two choices as he watched Eveny claw at Vallah's face, only to shriek as her attacker threw her backwards into the wall. Cillian could either watch and let his friends fight and maybe die. Or he could do what he'd always done and look after those he cared about. He wasn't a violent boy. He was friendly. He told jokes and laughed and helped and did everything someone normal his age had grown up thinking didn't matter. But it did, now. When faced with what was right and wrong, the little things mattered more than anything.

He had a choice to make. And he would make it.

Vallah screamed with tortured agony as she fended off Rell and Eveny. She picked up the spear on the ground and stabbed forwards. Rell sucked in her stomach and swivelled to the left, out of reach as she clasped her own knife. Eveny had a sword, sent down from the sky as a reward for what they'd planned to do. Acacia's body was still here. And because of Vallah… well, maybe they'd now have two to offer.

They continued to fight, trading blows, skimming the air with their blades and switching offence for defence like turning a switch. Cillian gritted his teeth, mumbled an apology under his breath, and drove forwards. He took out his own knife and met Vallah's fury with a slash to her arm. She hadn't been expecting him to attack. When her eyes widened and the fear of such a normal girl leaked back into her face, Rell clipped her in the jaw with her knuckles and Eveny kicked out and knocked her to her feet.

They all glanced at one another. The question hung thick in the air as Vallah struggled to stand up. She growled then cried then sobbed then swayed, backwards and forwards as second by second, the fight left her and her body sagged to the ground.

"I don't know…" Cillian breathed out, then in.

Rell knew what needed to be done. Eveny did. Cillian's mind went back to the tomb, back to everything that had led up to this moment, and back to the life he'd led in Three. The Games changed people like him. They made them worse. People like him tried to pretend they could be alright when reality had a much worse fate waiting for them.

But he'd always worked hard. So very hard, all his life, to be a good person. Friends needed help by lending some money, giving them a place to stay, or simply by trading a joke for a laugh through all the suffering. Friends in the Arena needed help that was paid for by blood.

Sometimes good people had to do bad things. To be good, sometimes you had to be bad.

Cillian drew his knife across her throat and bit his lip to stop himself from screaming. As the cannon sounded and her body fell backwards, landing next to Acacia's, her hand brushing the cold hand of her former ally's, Cillian let Rell help him up as he started to sway on the spot.

He'd made his choice for the good of their alliance.

Eveny did what had to be done and started to drag Vallah's body outside, heaving it over her shoulder. It made her feel dirty. It made her feel evil. Acacia hadn't been their kill. Something told her the tomb would only accept the body of their own personal victim.

The three left that house, leaving poor Acacia in her eternal slumber, alone forever.

They'd arrived looking for one specific person, and had left claiming the life of another. Whatever would become of them in the days to come, their actions would be what decided it.

Cillian, Rell and Eveny, together, moved back the way they'd come.

Anything for survival.

Anything for their own lives.

* * *

_Luella._

Aurelie had to stop herself from screaming.

_Stupid girl. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! Why would she...? _

Aurelie couldn't make sense of it. Aurelie hadn't been kind to her. Aurelie hadn't smiled at her. Or thanked her. Or hugged her. Or been anything more than a downright bitch like she'd always been to everyone just because she… could. Because being a bitch meant Aurelie didn't have to feel.

Aurelie didn't let herself become weak.

Because that had been District One. Prosper and Luella, hand in hand, smile from ear to ear, proudly holding their banner high that represented everyone else that had tried to believe the Games were anything but a harsh, cold, brutal word that killed twenty-three kids every year.

But it hadn't been them for long. Prosper had grown. He'd become something that had still retained his friendship but proved to Aurelie he could protect his stupid friend and kill. The two could exist together.

_Luella… _Dumb to the end. What kind of person would throw themselves in front of an arrow for someone that had made their life miserable from the moment they'd met each other? She could still recall the day during training where she'd tried to punch her face with reality. And yet she'd done it. She'd killed herself for Aurelie.

Now that she was alone, she had been walking and walking and hadn't stopped. Even as night time came yesterday, her thoughts had kept her up. Luella's smile as death took her, punching and punching and attacking everything until it kept her awake. It wasn't fair. She hadn't cared for Luella. She hadn't liked Luella. Hell, she'd been so close to killing Luella she was surprised she felt anything.

Anger. She'd lived her life surrounded by anger until it had become a part of her very being. Then things became easier. When she could blame other people and hate the world, she could place herself on a stand and look down on everyone with a smile and a cold confidence.

But now Luella had done the one thing she'd never do for anyone else and Aurelie couldn't even think straight. She wanted to punch the very force-field around them and kill something. She didn't even want to kill the tributes. They hadn't done anything except had a slip in the wrong position when an escort's hand had been deciding some innocent's death.

She fell down, in the dirt, and let her knees sink into the mud. Her greasy hair fell down her cheeks, tattered and tangled. _Luella, Luella, Luella. _

"FUCK!" Her fingers dug into the dirt and she threw a heap forwards, then another. A nail tore off and blood went with the mud. Aurelie didn't care. She needed something to distract herself from everything she felt. Rage. Confusion.

Guilt…

_Why did you do that…? Why kill yourself for… me?_

Aurelie realised, as she stood up, her breath ragged in her chest, that she hated herself. She hated everything she was. Luella's death made it clear like a punch in the face. She was angry with Luella because she'd thrown her life away for a mean, cold, cruel bitch that didn't deserve someone else's sacrifice.

Luella didn't need to die. A girl like her who could still see the bright in the darkest of times deserved to live. Belarius had been right. She was strong. She wasn't weak. The fact she didn't kill, despite the burden of where she'd come from, the years of pressure from a District that bred killers. Maybe it made Luella stronger than anyone in the Arena.

And now she was dead because of her.

Aurelie stood up and started to walk. When she walked, she could focus on other things. The spear in her hand, the swords on her back, the food and drink and medicine that rattled inside her bag. All of it became background noise with the moonlight on her face.

She tried to calm herself down. Now that Luella had gone and thrown her life away from Aurelie, it would be wrong to die. She'd been confident in her victory. Now, it wasn't just her own expectations she had to meet. She had to live up to some girl she hadn't know a week ago because she'd died so she could live.

That was her new reality.

She reached the border of houses. Aurelie recognised where she was with a grim frown, her brow furrowed with confused nerves that attacked her stomach before she could ward them off. It was weird to feel such a thing. As she heard two voices drift through the air, Aurelie didn't relish the idea of a fight. She actually… feared it.

_What the fuck has Luella done to me? _She looked at her spear and peered round the house nearest to the Cornucopia. The girl from Six and the boy from Twelve had claimed it. Aurelie knew she had no right to the absurd notion that they were dining on her supplies. They were not anyone's but the person with the balls to stand up and take them.

She might have felt scared at the prospect of a fight, so close to what had happened. But a fight would be a good distraction. A fight would take her mind off of things and give her the same purpose that had driven Aurelie through most of her life.

Killing things gave her no pleasure. But at least there was a morbid sort of peace in what she'd trained for. Aurelie gritted her teeth together, focused in on the voices, and waited.

The old Aurelie would have thrown herself into the fray.

But with Luella's smile rotating inside her head, she was starting to realise the folly of her ways. The tributes at the Cornucopia were no Careers. But they were fighters. Aurelie needed to get herself ready. She needed to time it just right.

If she died, Luella's sacrifice would have been for nothing.

_I hate you Luella for what you did. _Aurelie looked down into the dirt, a tear mixed in with the mud. _But thank you. _

_You saved my life._

* * *

Midday came along, halfway through the fifth day.

Tributes were scattered through the Arena, tending to the tragedy, the twists, the turns, the after-effects of everything the Games had thrown their way so far.

Lucas and Adrina continued to guard the Cornucopia, the latter nervous, the former holding up his front of strength for the better of his well-being. Somewhere nearby, Aurelie continued to stick to the shadows, watching her future opponents as they waited for a fight to be thrown their way. Luella's face would never leave her. She had to accept it as a part of her life.

Even the harshest fighter had a softer core, years of suffering resurfacing from her past and painting a new future.

Belarius and Ivo were retracing their steps back to where they'd first started their plan. The fire had ruined the central sector of the village. Through the ash and crumbled wood, they found refuge and prepared for the next stage.

Rell, Cillian and Eveny were nearing the tomb, Vallah's body held up by the faintest traces of survival instinct still remaining as the three tributes realised what they were doing. They had no idea Ryon wanted the tomb for himself. No idea that he knew its dark location.

Prosper was tracking Aurelie. He was looking for something. The more time he spent on Luella and the past, the more his eyes dimmed a dark red, his fingers clenched into fists and his heart pounded in his chest. He hadn't felt anything like it. He didn't want this feeling. But neither did he try to get rid of it.

Marshall was running. He hoped the cannon had not been Vallah's. Bad thoughts clawed their way through his mind; something told Marshall he'd never patch himself up. The Games had made something of him, only to take it all away. He'd lost control over himself.

With everything going on, the tributes finally, one by one, watched with curious horror as they realised what was changing. The fifth day. The fifth day and it was finally happening. On the opposite side of the Arena, looming in the sky, a mysterious tower containing the unknown of their future, the hourglass was finally emptying.

It was happening.

No one knew what the Arena had in store of them. Each and every tribute watched with bated breath as the last sand grain fell through to the bottom half of the hourglass. A silent tension rolled through the Arena, overwhelming every tribute as they tried to control their panicked breathing.

Another second counted down.

Fear turned to ash. Curiosity fell and crumbled into nothing. From Prosper to Lucas, they had no idea what was happening. No idea until it came upon them.

Everything went dark.

The tributes blacked out.

* * *

_**Acacia Grey, District Twelve Female.**_

_**Vallah Marchant, District Nine Female.**_

* * *

**Tea. So, Acacia. Yeah, you know what, I'm really happy I went against predictability and kept her on for the ride she's had for her part in the Games. A big part of the action and development of her entire alliance would not have happened if it weren't for her. Predictability and going for the obvious choice ruins a lot of potential in a story, and as a character, I enjoyed Acacia right from the off. I admired her youthful kind of strength. Sure she was naïve, but if it's done in an older tribute, people don't seem to mind as much compared to when it's done in a younger one. Maybe I didn't get the criticism against her, but whatever. I adored her and I'm really happy you submitted her to this story. Thank you!**

**Glimmer. Vallah babe. I think most people are gonna miss her for what she brought to this story. I know I will. You provided me with one of the standouts and for that I'm grateful. She might have tried nearer to the beginning to try to focus more on herself, but most people just can't turn that switch off inside their heads and become someone they aren't. She was always a friendly, competitive, strong and excitable girl. Passionate and responsible, she made a good leader for her alliance. But with her alliance finally coming to an end, her development would have taken the lower, sadder and tragic route that can become typical in tributes like her. I wanted to bring her story to an end before she became too much like someone she isn't. I'm so thankful for her, honestly. I enjoyed every second I got to spend writing her character!**

* * *

**Dun dun dun!**

**Yeah, I don't usually do cliff-hangers. Mainly because I do chapters day by day, so the night never has anything interesting. But this chapter is only half of one day, so enjoy the end ;P**

**Since I can't say congrats to a final twelve. Here's one for the final eleven! **

**Congratulations to those tributes and their submitters that have reached this point: Prosper, Belarius, Aurelie, Cillian, Rell, Ivo, Marshall, Ryon, Adrina, Eveny, Lucas.**

**I know I said I wanted to wait to publish my next SYOT. And I really do. But don't be surprised if I'm too tempted and give in. Maybe it'll be up soon. Maybe it won't. I guess just keep an eye out in case I cave.**

**Thanks for 300 reviews everybody (I'm saying this before I reach 300 because I'm pretty sure I'll hit that number with this chapter). It means a lot!**


	25. Gods and Monsters

**Chapter Twenty-Five.**

* * *

One by one, the tributes awoke.

Their arms tingled with pain that started to fade, a bright bluish glow pulsating underneath skin. Their heads were aching. Their vision groggy and blurred.

Until, the very red moon that had become like a sun to them, started to shake.

A crack went up the underside, one line that turned into a branch that forked into an entire cobweb of ruin. The tributes held their breath as the moon hatched and their world was plunged into horror. The fire that had begun in the forest slowly started to spread, pushed inch by inch by imaginary winds that swirled in the sky.

The still water started to grow violent as waves lashed the shoreline, steadily moving closer inland and towards the village. But the main thing that drew the tributes' attention was the moon that began to break like an egg. The red tinge to the Arena vanished as the entire sky went pitch black. The moon was gone. Flames that started to burn into the sky became the light source as three mutts dropped from the air – from the egg – and landed into the Arena.

It was then, with lumps in their throat, fear clutching their hearts, that the tributes realised they were alone. Their allies were gone. Belarius and Ivo. Rell, Cillian and Eveny. Lucas and Adrina. More than half of those still remaining were no longer side by side with those they'd grown to care for.

Something had happened to them as they'd been forced into unconsciousness. Something had dragged them to different parts of the Arena as the egg hatched, the fires grew stronger, and the waters more aggressive as they swept towards the village.

The hourglass had brought a terrible change.

The tributes had no one, as they had to make the choice to reunite or stand by themselves, knowing the cost of survival.

This was their lonely hour.

* * *

Prosper had blacked out somewhere near the centre of the village.

He re-awoke close to the edge of the forest. The first thing he did was watch the Arena as it slowly started to fall apart. The flames licked the air near his head, burning the sky above, a red and orange streak that cut apart the silence.

He set forwards as quickly as he could. His eyes never left the area where the mutts had fallen. One of them travelled through the sky quickly and joined the smoke within the trees. His heart leapt into his throat as he struggled through the fear and moved swiftly on. For a moment, as he dealt with the catastrophic changes, he forgot himself and what had happened so far.

Then, like hammering a nail in, Prosper's mind went back a day or so ago, and the fear washed away. A longing filled his heart as he thought of Luella. Pain swarmed the front of his mind as he struggled to take step after step. All he'd wanted to do was protect her and he couldn't even do that. If he'd failed that, the next probable prediction would be his failure of surviving. Of winning. Of living.

He'd known the two couldn't have existed together. He couldn't protect Luella and protect himself. But believing in something that couldn't happen made living in such a bad world easier. A place that wasn't like the stories. Heroes did not exist.

Now, with reality punching him in the face, the fear drowned out, the longing faded away, and that hungry, furious rage became like a second sword in his hand. He was angry at the Capitol. He was angry at the people that had pushed Luella to volunteer. He was even, in someways, angry at Luella for throwing her life away in the first place. But then he hated himself for thinking that.

He was angry at himself.

More importantly, he was angry at Aurelie. And it was that anger that made his strides surer and filled with purpose. He entered the left hand side of the village with only one goal in mind. He had to win for Luella, so her memory didn't fade away. He didn't blame Ivo for what he'd done to Darina. He didn't blame Belarius for being part of the plan that had torn apart the Careers.

They'd done things for their own survival. Prosper blamed no one but Aurelie. They wanted her dead just as much as he did. If he could find them, maybe together they could accomplish that shared goal.

He had to get his revenge.

Maybe then he'd find his peace.

* * *

Ryon hadn't been moved.

He'd fallen unconscious near the tomb. He woke up under the stone monolith, his eyes picking up the darkness of the sky above. One of the three mutts had fallen into the water. He spent a single second looking into those violent jet-black depths and moved closer towards the tomb.

He wasn't sure what the point had been of the Gamemakers forcing him to black out. Nothing had changed. He still had the weapons they'd given him. He was still a few feet from the tomb which promised such a chilling trade. A dead body for a reward.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe the fact they hadn't intervened with Ryon meant they still wanted something from him. He tried to offer a grateful smile to the cameras. He was sure it didn't look convincing but that didn't matter. For the time being, he had their attention. Now he had to make sure he didn't waste it.

He set foot into the tomb and perched himself near the entrance. The slope that led down into the morbid structure meant he wouldn't see anyone coming until they started to follow the path. But it also meant he had enough time to duck away and hide in the shadows. _Or better yet…_

His eyes fell on the open coffin and he realised what the Gamemakers wanted.

Someone was nearby.

They hadn't done anything to him because the fight they'd promised would be upon them soon enough. The idea of bloodshed was too good an opportunity for the Gamemakers to thwart. Ryon, gritting his teeth, knowing his future, held onto his weapons in sweaty, shaky hands, and kept an eye on the incline upwards.

Now, he would wait.

Soon, he would fight.

* * *

_Damn them._

Lucas eyed the Cornucopia with a frown on his face.

He wasn't aware that Ryon had been given the same reprieve. The Gamemakers had plucked Adrina from their alliance and let him stay put. The Cornucopia was a place that drew violence towards it, like a golden beacon, shining into the darkness and pulling people in the direction of a fight.

For twenty or so minutes, Lucas tried to adjust to the idea of being alone. It was a strange feeling. All his life he'd pretty much been a loner, moving from one place to the other, head held high as he fought through the rest of District Twelve. Some people he spent time around. Others he didn't waste his breath on.

He wasn't necessarily better than them. But Lucas never tried to care too much. It had always worked out that way. Until Adrina came along.

Now with her absence, there was something hollow inside his chest. Like Adrina's presence had filled a gap he'd never been aware had existed in the first place. Now that he knew of it, he was worried. Adrina was out there, somewhere. Alone or surrounded. Maybe she was grateful to be gone from Lucas. He wasn't the friendliest of people, he knew himself as the kind of person he was. He'd never tried to pretend otherwise and Adrina had seemed content to put up with him.

If the Gamemakers had changed the Arena because they'd been looking to stir things up, they'd left Lucas near the Cornucopia for a reason. They'd removed Adrina instead, because they wanted something from him.

He looked at the supplies, sitting there, tempting him in, and knew that as long as there was a tribute breathing, they wanted someone to bring the fight to them. Tributes would fight over food and water. People needed taking care of, even Lucas as much as he hated to admit to weakness. He wasn't perfect. He wasn't anything more than another tribute fighting for survival.

_So be it. _With dread in his heart and fear misting his mind, Adrina's face circling round and round, he moved closer to the golden horn.

He'd kill anyone that tried to take this place from him.

Lucas was prepared for anything.

And anyone.

* * *

Adrina tripped halfway down the hill.

Her body tumbled and rolled and smacked hard against the beaten earth at the bottom. She looked up, rubbed the back of her head with a groan, and watched the smoke swirl around the top of the clock tower.

From the Cornucopia one side of the Arena, to the other. Somehow she'd been transported an hour or so away from Lucas. She'd have to face everything within the village to get back to him. What startled Adrina the most was the fact she would. She really would.

Lucas may have been one of the strongest still alive, someone she feared and respected and resented all at the same time, but she cared for him. He was his ally, like she was his.

_I wonder what he's thinking right now. _She smirked and stopped herself from laughing too loud. Knowing Lucas he was probably focusing more on the weapon in his hand and what he'd have to do with it than his own ally. That was Lucas. Too serious. Too focused for his own good. He was stepping over a line Adrina had tried to keep him from crossing. The second he stepped that line, away from his morality, there would be no going back.

Alone, with the wind howling through the air, a breeze scratching her cheeks, she watched the water move inland and towards the village. It slowly rose above her shoes until each step became a loud slap of water that echoed further down and into the Arena.

She wanted to curse out loud but it wouldn't do her any good. She had a knife, a backpack of food, and her wits still about her. Despite how much she longed for Lucas' presence, she also valued her own life far too much to stumble into the village and take on the entire Arena. She had to be smart. First, it would do her well to canvas this new area. The clock tower that had changed the Arena stood proud and unbroken, the sand from the hourglass in the other side.

She could see the village, the first line of houses, about a few minutes walk from where she was. The most striking thing, however, were the rocks tipped against one another. They formed a sort of abstract picture that arced upwards and beckoned her towards something she couldn't see from her position.

_What do I have to lose? _She didn't feel like answering that question. She knew very well what she could lose. The thought didn't do anything for her already questionable courage.

She moved for the stones and paused, peering down into something that seemed half above and half below the earth. Adrina's hand patted the stone, for whatever reason, like she needed reassurance from something without her ally to help her.

The knife in her hand felt heavier than it really did. She moved for the building ahead, what looked like some kind of tomb, stuck in the ground. When she breached the entrance, crossing the threshold between the ruin of outside and the cleanliness of the inside, she stood stock-still and stared at what was before her.

Three coffins. She tilted her head with curiosity and moved for them. The Gamemakers had moved her this far for a reason. They'd put this place here because they intended someone to come across it. Was she the first one to find it? She had no answer to that question.

As Adrina placed her hand over the rim of the left one, she slowly walked towards the right, dragging her hand along. It was peaceful. A deathly kind of silence that didn't help Adrina calm down. Her heart beat quickened in pace as she stopped in front of the right.

Her eyes met the carvings above, she peered over the edge, and without warning, a knife went straight into her shoulder.

Agony burst up her arm as someone jumped out from the coffin and stood, breathing hard against the wall, clutching his chest.

Adrina looked at the blood trickling down her arm and the way it suddenly felt like a weight, swinging lifeless by her side. She gripped onto her knife as best she could and let the blurriness in her eyes swim away.

That was when she saw Ryon, standing in front of her. He saw her too. District partners, metres away from each other. They no longer had the comfort of a train ride. Or the Capitol to protect them. Or even an ally.

"Adrina," Ryon sounded panicked. But the kind of panic that he tried to control, only for it to give his fear away even more.

"Ryon." Adrina tried to shake her head clear of a fog that slowly rolled in behind her eyes. "Funny meeting you here."

"I wouldn't call it funny," he grinned, sadly.

He had a belt of knives. A sword at his hip. A bundle of supplies packed into the corner. Someone had been generous when sponsoring Ryon. Adrina looked into the pain that raged in his eyes and knew why. He'd promised them he'd fulfil his role as a tribute. Whether that meant the death of someone he didn't know, or the death of the very girl opposite him.

District partner versus district partner did promise a very satisfying encounter.

Unfortunately for the Capitol, she wasn't about to please them with a long-winded conversation about nothing. Adrina wasn't a fan of pretending things could work another way. Ryon was a good guy. Good in a different sense. Whether she wanted to kill him or not, that didn't matter.

The answer was plain to see.

Adrina threw herself in his direction before he could say anything else. He hadn't been expecting that. She launched a fist that smashed into his nose. As he shrieked with pain, memories flashed in front of Adrina's eyes as she kicked him in the stomach, cutting open his own shoulder.

Lucas and Adrina had attacked them. Killed his ally. Taken the last friend he had. And somehow, Ryon was still here, intact and ready. She admired him just as much as she did Lucas. They were both strong. Both willing to do what had to be done.

She only had to be more willing.

Adrina tried to cut open his throat. Ryon saw her movement at the last second and brought his arm up to block the blow, twisting it round and slashing open her cheek with a knife. He stepped backwards, rounded the coffins, and drew his sword.

Adrina looked at the knife in her hand, groaned, smiled, and then vaulted the coffin and jumped over the last one. Ryon met her next blow and dodged her attempt to stab the blade into his face.

He was quick. As quick as she was. The pain in her shoulder felt distant, like it wasn't bothersome anymore. She was aware that it was a result of the adrenaline driving her onwards in the fight, but she wasn't in a position to complain.

Ryon smiled at her himself and moved outside of the tomb, backing up towards the stone and away from Adrina. She chased after him. If she let him go, he'd only find his way back here. When she realised he was moving round the stone and towards the shore, she saw what he planned on doing.

He wasn't running away. He was leading her to an open space. Where it would be easier to kill her, nothing to hide behind, nothing to escape over. With the water at their feet, soaking their shoes and body, the fight would be decided.

Adrina used her fear and pushed herself onwards. She met Ryon's sword strike with her knife, metal clattering away from her blade. He slashed to the left, attempting to cut open her stomach. The steel bit into her skin, but she'd jumped back with enough space to stop him from killing her.

He was tired. She was tired. The Arena had taken so much from them. Too much.

Adrina managed to cut open his shoulder once more. Ryon sliced open her leg. She cried. He cried. She was pain. He was in pain.

It went on for a few more minutes, both of them falling to their knees. The water thrashed over their shoulders in violent waves. Ryon held on, digging his sword deep, acting like a crutch to keep him up and steady. Adrina yelled out loud when they swept her away.

The tide pulled her back towards Ryon. Back towards their fight.

His fingers went for the belt round his waist and she realised, with tearful eyes glazed in pain, what was about to happen. She'd never given up. Whether the world was a shit place and she had so many questions, Adrina had kept on fighting.

She tried to stand up. She tried to give it her all. But the waters were too strong, and the Gamemakers too generous towards Ryon, not her.

He pulled out a knife as she was thrown towards him. He shouted as he toppled backwards and was dragged with her. Adrina screamed as the blade went straight into her neck.

It was the last scream she ever got to make.

The black of the waters were dyed a sickening shade of red as her cannon sounded. Her body was pushed back towards the shore, bloody and still. He stood up on two legs and hobbled towards her.

"Adrina…" His voice cracked as he fell by her side.

He'd killed. He'd actually taken a life. And not just any life, but the life of a girl from his home District. She might have fought him earlier on, tried to kill him, her ally slaughtering Dante. But he'd never hated her.

This had been his plan.

His eyes went over his shoulder and landed on the tomb again. He hated himself for trying to do what he did next. It was the only way.

As he went to scoop her body up and made it further up the shore, something moved from under the waves. Ryon remembered the moon. The crimson egg. The mutts that fell from the sky.

A tentacle snatched Adrina's body, knocking the wind straight from Ryon's lungs and throwing him backwards. She was dragged under the depths and out of sight. Ryon stared at the waters, shocked to silence.

Then he started to cry.

* * *

Vallah's body was gone.

Cillian didn't even care that he'd lost what was needed for the reward. What he cared about, shivering as the cold water soaked through his shoes and lashed against his legs, was the fact Rell and Eveny had vanished alongside her corpse.

He looked out into the village. He'd been walking for some time now. With his allies, he'd found it easier to focus more on the two of them than their actual surroundings. Now he was in a part of the Arena he'd never been to, closer maybe to the front where the Cornucopia was, than the back where they'd found the tomb. Or maybe he had his directions messed up and he was in a completely new place.

Cillian sighed and ran a hand through his dirty hair. It was thick with grease and filth that had accumulated over the course of the Games. In another place and another time, Cillian had kept up his appearances.

Now, they didn't matter in the slightest. Not that they ever really had.

All he wanted, as he struggled towards something, was for his friends to come back. They were out there somewhere, alone, trudging through the water and the heat of the fire that swirled through the air from the forest. They were alone with three new mutts.

Cillian wasn't even scared for himself at this point. He was more scared for Rell and Eveny. Even after killing Vallah, he couldn't focus on anything other than his alliance and how they were faring. His own state of mind seemed forgotten when he continued to think about them. Either it was a coping mechanism, or something had snapped and he was past the point of caring for his own wellbeing.

If he couldn't work for his own survival, then he had to work on helping his allies. But first finding them. The Arena seemed bigger with every passing day. For such a shoddy village, run-down and desolate, the roads seemed to go on and on, weaving in and out through houses that were in various stages of disrepair.

Cillian wanted out. But he wanted Rell and Eveny to have that chance as well, even more than he wanted it for himself.

It was either stupid, heroic, or both.

Probably both.

* * *

Aurelie was almost thankful for this new change.

The fact she now had to adapt to what the Gamemakers had now done, made it almost easier for Luella's memory to become nothing. When she thought of her name, there would always be that aching confusion and hollow pain. But first, she had to focus on the living. The living meant herself and those that wanted to do her harm.

In some ways, Aurelie was glad she was a lone wolf. She no longer had to deal with fighting a losing battle against those that right from the off she'd struggled to connect with. It was for herself and herself alone.

One of the mutts had dropped far too close for comfort, near the centre of the village. She was cautious with every step she took. It seemed relatively large. One of its arms was bigger than the other. Its body an inky blue with bristles covering it from head to toe. The tributes had always seemed the one and true foe in this. Now, she had to focus more on the Gamemakers and the fact they had sway over whether she came out alive or not.

For a long time, Aurelie had let her emotions dictate her life, when all she'd done was pretend she didn't feel anything. Now that she was trying so hard to let it all go, she was surprisingly finding herself in a rather calm state of mind.

Luella's head rotated round and round behind her eyes, somewhere locked in the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind. But the Games were easier to focus on when all she had to do was take it step by step.

She was past the point of claiming to be someone better than the rest of them.

They'd all survived and made it to this point. So far into the Games, they deserved it, regardless of what they'd done and who they'd done it to. Each fight would be hard, but each fight Aurelie was determined to go in peacefully, composed, and determined to win.

She wanted to find the Cornucopia again.

They'd moved her away from it, deeper into the village for a reason. But that didn't mean she couldn't make it back the way she'd come.

There, she'd take back the front of the Arena and wait for the other tributes to flock towards supplies. When that happened, Aurelie would do what she had always prepared herself to do.

Kill, deal with it, and survive.

Though she took no pleasure in the worst kinds of actions a human could commit, in the Arena, they were actions Aurelie would cope with and move on from.

They were the actions of a tribute.

* * *

Rell slipped and stumbled down the incline of sand.

She'd waited for a while at the summit, looking down onto the Cornucopia and the boy from Twelve as he sat with the supplies round him.

Her mind had gone from panic to fear to worry to anxiety to everything in-between. Now, Rell just wanted to find Cillian and Eveny.

She'd been put right at the top of the sand, next to the pedestals from the beginning. Her mind raced back to the bloodbath and the chaos she'd had to fight through. Rell hadn't been stupid and thrown herself into the fray. She'd done things the smart way, something she couldn't always say about herself, and it was because of that she'd survived.

Rell wasn't about to throw her life down the drain before she got to meet up with her friends again. The knife in her hand trembled with the nerves that went down her entire arm, but she tried to hold it steady and progressed onwards. The moment Lucas caught sight of her, his back went rigid and his arm shot out to pick up a spear.

He didn't throw it.

Rell tried to smile and attempted a friendly wave in his direction. She jumped the last bit of the sandy hill and moved towards him. Not too long ago, Rell wouldn't have held back. Not from a fight, but from taking the situation and rolling with it, regardless of the consequences. She could tell that Lucas was on edge. That was he ready to play the killer and win.

But so was Rell. Even with Cillian, someone she cared for, deep in her bones. And Eveny, a friend through everything, a girl that understood the Games just as much as Rell did. Even then, her own life meant so much to her, so much that it hurt to consider what she'd have to do and go through to reach that point.

They'd already accepted the idea of killing a small girl for some kind of reward. And instead, she'd let a sweet, humble, friendly boy kill someone else rather than having the courage to do it herself.

Her body had gone, as they'd been split apart.

That was the worst thing. All of that for nothing.

"Don't come any closer," Lucas warned, shaking his spear firmly. His teeth were gritted together. He looked quite deadly. Something Rell knew would never be the case for her demeanour. She could talk the talk, but she really wasn't that kind of person. "What do you want?"

"The same thing everyone wants," Rell shrugged, smiled, and gestured to the supplies. "Give me two minutes to collect some food for my alliance and I'll be on my way."

"No." Lucas shook his head. "You… you can't. I won't let you."

"Do we really have to fight with a goddamn fire moving for us, the water trying to drown us, and three humongous mutts dropping from the moon? Can't we save it for later and just be on our way?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

_Fuck me he's stubborn. And I thought I didn't know when to stop talking. _

"Look, Lucas. Why risk dying-"

"Who says I'm going to die?"

"-when you can just let me get some food, run along, and get out from your hair. Please. From one reaped kid to another. Let me go."

Lucas paused to think it through. Rell hoped she'd gotten through to him. If she had to fight him, she would. As much as she was sure she'd hate herself for killing a boy that was only trying to defend his position, they all wanted that coveted spot of victor. Mainly because it meant they got to live.

She watched his face go through ten or so emotions, before landing on one that made him sigh and unclench, the spear lowering to the ground.

"Be quick about it. Don't take too much."

"Thank you," Rell smiled. She wasn't stupid enough, just in case it was a trick, to get too close to him. She nodded and skirted to the right, ran straight for the supplies, and in a matter of minutes, was gone from the Cornucopia.

_Time to find Cillian and Eveny._

* * *

Ivo threw himself behind cover.

He stopped himself from breathing too hard, swallowing his fear down as he clutched his chest. Ivo's entire side ached from sprinting so much, round corners and through buildings and down village streets. He was now out of sight.

Hopefully.

He peered round the corner and saw the large mutt move the opposite direction. It was terrifying. The other two mutts had moved to the fire and water. For now, he didn't have to worry about them. But this one, as it went through the village, no doubt looking for foes, was the real enemy. The other tributes might still be out there. But Ivo found it hard to even process the idea of another fight with that creature skulking through the shadows, stalking its prey.

He waited another few minutes until he stood up, tried to compose himself, and went round another corner.

Before he could stop himself, he launched right up in the air, the fear he'd held down skyrocketing straight into his throat as he yelped out loud. Prosper fell backwards as he connected with his chest and landed in the dirt.

At the sight of the boy from One, Ivo's mind raced back to the Career fight. Shame roiled around inside his stomach, quenching the terror at the mutt and replacing it with a terror for himself. He'd prepared for so long at the idea of killing. Belarius had told him it wasn't so bad, as long as you distracted yourself.

But with Ivo, no matter what he tried to do to tell himself he'd done what had to be done, he couldn't help but think of Darina's family and friends. He had his own loved ones and they would have fallen apart over his death. He'd done this to another woman's daughter, someone's sister, a friend, a niece, a cousin. Ivo had hoped the Careers would have worked together, that he wouldn't have to be the person to split them up.

That was before he met them for good.

And now, he'd not only killed someone, he was one of the reasons why they were all alone. Why Prosper was staring up at him on the ground, looking at his feet, then the sword in his hand, dried blood caking its point, and then up into his eyes.

Ivo prepared himself for another fight, as hopeless as he felt right now. When Prosper smiled and shot straight up, wrapping him into a hug, Ivo choked on a sob that soon rattled out into a broken laugh.

"I'm so sorry…" Ivo had stayed back during most of the Capitol, but that didn't mean he'd never cared. He did. He always had done. It was that care that made him meet Prosper's embrace. "I only…"

"You saved your own life. She was trying to kill you. I was… I was trying to kill you." Though Prosper shook with some other kind of emotion, Ivo relished their hug until the two of them broke it off.

Maybe it was just the sight of being with someone. Ivo was reeling from the idea of losing Belarius. But he was alive. Somewhere. And he would find him, no matter what it took. Like he'd cared about the idea of a functioning Career alliance, he cared too much for his friend through all of this.

"I don't hate you for what you had to do," Ivo said, smiling. "I hope you don't hate me as much as I hate myself…"

"I think it's become a part of all of us. I hate myself too."

"Let's start a club," Ivo joked, laughing weakly. "I'm sorry about Luella."

"Me too." Prosper bowed his head.

The two stood in silence for a few more moments. Prosper then met his eyes and smiled. Ivo had been searching for Belarius, and he would keep searching. But the idea of teaming up with Prosper gave him such relief from having to be alone, that he almost threw the idea out there without giving himself time to think it through.

As it happened, however, Prosper had the exact same idea. "We should stick together. Find Belarius. The Careers might have fallen apart, but we can build up half of it together. Then fight through whatever's now become of the Arena."

He sounded like his old optimistic self. There was another edge to him. The way he spoke. The way his eyes were aflame with something. But Ivo had always been hooked to the words of others, silently holding back his own worries and anxiety because he preferred to follow than lead.

A team sounded good, though. He wasn't sure what there was to worry about, at this point in time.

"Deal."

What Prosper didn't tell Ivo, as they went on the search for Belarius, was the next stage of their plan. It all revolved around revenge. With Aurelie, right at the heart of it.

Ivo just wanted his friend back.

Prosper had lost his. As much as he cared for Ivo and Belarius, they would never hold a candle to the light that had been his District partner.

And together, they would kill the real monster in the Arena.

* * *

Marshall tried to make himself stop feeling.

He tried to tell his stupid brain to stop picturing Acacia's sweet face, before the torture of the fire. He tried to tell his goddamn heart to stop beating faster when he thought about Carson and what had happened. About Vallah and how he'd left her, at the mercy of a whole alliance.

He told his eyes that if they didn't stop misting over, he'd gouge them from his skull and be done with them.

But as much as he told his body to go one way, there was no changing what was happening. Marshall tried to control a lot of things in his life. His own humanity, however deep it might have once been, hiding in the shadows, was one thing he'd never be able to dominate.

He had done what he'd always known would happen. He'd joined an alliance because he knew his limitations in battle and had surrounded himself with people that could defend him. He knew that eventually, when the moment was right, he'd have to kill maybe one or two of them so he could leave and survive.

And now that he'd done such a thing, to someone that hadn't even originally been in his alliance, Marshall hated himself. He hated how he saw things. He hated the unfairness of the world that they were all forced to live through, and how he couldn't cope with the idea that maybe he did deserve to die. Maybe the better people should live.

Dominic was better than him. Carson was. Acacia was. And here was Marshall, running through the ashen village, under streaks of fire, one of the worst people because he'd been willing to be that bad person. He hated the fact he wasn't about to give up even though someone like him did not deserve the title of victor.

Vallah, if she was still alive, deserved it more than him.

But Marshall, as he moved through the village from wherever he'd been transported to, knew he would never stop fighting. He would never stop being that bad person. No matter how much it hurt, he was just scared. Death was the most frightening thing around. He wasn't ready for an end.

Marshall didn't have a plan. He'd spent so much time focusing on what had to happen before the dissolution of his alliance, that he'd never considered what would happen next. Maybe because, somewhere, he'd never actually thought it would work.

_Since when did I become so unconfident? _Where he'd worked, what he'd done, hating himself would never have helped. But in this Arena, he had too much time to think about his true self. He really did hate who he was.

Marshall rounded a corner of the Arena, with that in mind, and halted almost immediately. At the sight of another tribute, moving down the opposite side of the street, Marshall's heart leapt into his throat and choked the first word that threatened to spill.

He realised how alone he actually was.

Now that there was someone else, he had no alliance to back him up. No alliance to go crazy and swing their swords to save him from a burning pyre. Marshall had Marshall. It had been a good thing in a battle of words. In a battle of swords and fists, not so much.

He recognised the boy from Three.

His alliance was nowhere to been seen. Marshall was confused for a moment. Maybe Cillian realised what he was thinking and smiled sadly. "The Gamemakers did something. They split us up."

"Oh, so that's what it was." Marshall laughed. "I thought they were just fucking with us."

"That too."

Cillian stepped back when Marshall stepped forward. Marshall moved back when Cillian moved forward. The two stood there, facing one another, with a weapon in one hand, knowing what had to happen, and being too scared to do it.

Then Cillian spoke, and Marshall's blood ran cold. "You killed Acacia."

_Acacia. I did. I killed my ally. My friend. A girl I'd fought to protect, when I'd only ever wanted to be protected. _"Yeah… yes. Yes I did." His voice cracked and he looked down at the dirt underneath his shoe. That was what Marshall was. Mud under someone's sole.

"I killed Vallah."

_W-What? _Marshall looked up into Cillian's eyes. He thought it was a trick. A lie. Some awful scheme. But looking into the frightened, broken eyes of the normal boy before him, told Marshall that his last remaining friend was dead.

He really was all alone.

"I guess we both did what we had to do."

Cillian's face darkened. For the first time in maybe forever, something came upon Cillian. The idea of killing Vallah maybe had changed him. Maybe had done something that he'd refused to accept and now was forced to.

"There's a difference."

"A difference?"

Cillian's entire body was trembling. Marshall's was too. He didn't want to think about Acacia. Or Vallah. Or even himself. No one. None of it mattered. He wanted to go home. He wanted to waste away and live his life the way it was supposed to be lived. Nothing but a cockroach in the darkness, scuttling on tiny legs and plaguing the world with its existence.

At least he'd be alive.

"I killed someone that attacked my allies. I defended my friends." Cillian met Marshall's eyes. Marshall felt something breaking in his chest. Something dark and angry. Something scared. "That little girl. She was… she was hurt all over. On the floor. She was dying already. I killed someone to save my friends. You killed a little, innocent girl. There is a difference."

_No. No. I did a bad thing, but not the wrong thing. _"She had to die!"

"No she didn't!" Cillian shouted.

He didn't see. What was with these people not understanding that everyone had to be killed so they could live? Everyone was lying to themselves. Everyone believing in something that was impossible.

Marshall and Cillian were stepping forwards, bridging the gap between them without even knowing. The weight of their actions, the idea of killing someone, pulled their emotions from the deepest and darkest corners of their mind and drove them into something neither could step away from.

"If you don't think she should have died," Marshall spat, shaking with fear and anger and sadness, "then you won't live. You won't survive."

"Better to die someone that fought for his friends than kill one of them."

Marshall shouted, putting everything into the noise as he grabbed Cillian by the neck and hoisted him in the air. Cillian started to shake as his warm eyes met Marshall's. He thrashed and shook as Marshall started to cry, sobs drowning out the angry shouts until his knees were knocking together.

"I'm doing what I have to do!" Marshall sobbed. "I'm doing what someone who wants to win has to do…!"

Cillian spluttered as he shook under Marshall's firm hand, wrapped round his throat. "I…I don't want…to win…"

"Then you need to die."

Cillian shook his head. "I want them to win."

"Them?"

Cillian started to go still. "My friends."

"Friends don't exist. Not anymore."

The life left Cillian's eyes, one single shudder and the boy from Three died.

Marshall dropped him and ran. The cannon chased after him in the wake of his actions, until Marshall fell in a heap on the ground and clawed his way into the shadows.

_What am I….? What am I?!_

He was a monster.

* * *

The day was coming to an end.

Eveny looked up at the starless sky as the Capitol seal was broadcast where the moon had once been. She brought her knees up to her chin and fell back against a beam of wood, somewhere closer to the shore, but not too close.

The first face made Eveny cry out. She slapped a hand round her mouth and looked down at the ground. Her nails went through clumps of dirt as Cillian's face went round and round her mind. _Cillian… he's dead… _She had always been close to her allies. Eveny had never been the type of person who would ever not make the effort of trying to find something good in everyone. The thing with Cillian, it wasn't difficult.

It would be harder to find anything bad. He was just a normal, friendly boy. And now he was dead.

She watched Adrina's face appear. Then Vallah, the girl Cillian had killed, and finally Acacia, a girl that had been at the forefront of a plan that had fallen apart. The tomb was still out there. That reward waiting to be collected. But Vallah's body had gone with the transition of the tributes, moving to and fro between the Arena. Now, all she had was a distant memory of what had been an awful thing to do, but had been necessary.

As cold winds contested with the burning fire and smoke clotting the air, Eveny let her back fall further down onto the ground until her head was nestled against her backpack. She was tucked up, away from sight, underneath the ruins of a house that overlooked the water.

She thought of Cillian's smiling face. She thought of his face as he drew his knife along Vallah's throat. How he had stood up, smiled at Rell, and moved out of the door. Barely a scratch on the surface.

She then thought of Rell.

The worst part was, as Eveny thought of her alliance that had fallen apart, she realised there was no desire to find her friend from Three. Eveny had knew this time would come. It was part of the same drive that had made Eveny suggest targeting the weakest and easiest kill in the Games.

Eveny had made promises in her life. Promises that she'd never broken. The idea of winning the Games had been a promise she'd made to her friends. And the fact they'd made a vow never to hate her for what she had to do in the Arena…

It helped Eveny close her eyes tight, think of her alliance, her friends, those she loved within this Arena, and let them go.

Eveny was a tribute without an alliance. Everyone had been alone and given the choice between finding someone or realising what the Gamemakers had now done. The decision was simple. As guilty as she might feel come the future, it was now Eveny and Eveny alone.

The path to victory had now been paved.

It was a road Eveny was willing to take; a road she was prepared to walk, without her alliance.

Eveny would do whatever it took to win, and now, the Gamemakers had made it easier.

She only had to look out for herself.

Everyone else had to die.

* * *

_**Adrina Lear, District Six Female.**_

_**Cillian Garnier, District Three Male.**_

* * *

**Aspect. Literally, I think I have something wrong when it comes to your tributes. I adore them but I always worry that I'm getting them wrong and panic. I'm not sure if that's the case this time, but as much as I did love Adrina, I kind of feel guilty I never got her down quite right. That didn't change the fact that I enjoyed the time she spent in this story. With Lucas. With Ryon. And with herself. She was a really fun character to work with, there was just nothing left for her to do in the Arena, which meant I had to make the hard decision to bring her story to an end. She'll be missed!**

**Bo. Cillian was a cutie. I agree with everyone that loved him for breaking the mold and becoming something different from his upbringing and wealth. The fact he was just a normal, everyday, friendly teenage boy who only wanted to be himself, well those are the kinds of tributes I really like. His alliance was a highlight of mine, and his personality was something I really got into when writing and saw something special in. It's a shame he had to go now, but likewise with everyone that now dies, there just wasn't anything left for him. Thanks for submitting him!**

* * *

**Yeah I caved. Check out my next SYOT which is published with all the info on my profile, submit if you can and want to, of course! :)**

**Anyway, speaking about this chapter, I go by the assumption that the Gamemakers can pretty much do whatever the hell they want with the trackers. They can inject all sorts of things into the tributes and yeah, basically the end of the hourglass resulted in everyone blacking out and the tributes being separated. Basically, it ties in with the title. **

**A lot of scenes this chapter, but they were necessary to build upon what's now happened.**

**The Arena is slowly changing too. The fire is spreading. The water is spreading. The moon was some kind of egg with three mutts that have now dropped down into the Arena. Not long to go now until the end of the Games, feels like they've only just started ;/ (Although I guess, in a way, they have. The bloodbath was posted not that long ago).**

**Thanks for reading! **


	26. Hero

**Chapter Twenty-Six.**

* * *

Lucas sat at the base of the hill, the supplies piled up around him and at his feet.

He'd moved everything further away from the Cornucopia and towards the sand for a better viewpoint. No one would be sneaking up on him. He refused to give the other tributes that kind of advantage.

That was how his path had been paved so far – taking away what people could use to tear him down.

He thought of the girl from Three, yesterday's intruder, and bit his lip. He could have killed her. He should have killed her. When he'd been left alone, he'd made it his priority to do whatever had to be done to ensure it was him and him alone that would survive.

And yet, he'd shown mercy.

_Adrina. _He thought of his deceased ally. Adrina had done something for him. She'd helped him pull back, a step or two from crossing a line, and it was because of her he knew he could not have driven his spear into Rell's body. She wanted supplies for her hungry allies. Lucas had been thinking of Adrina in that moment, alone, hungry, lost and frightened. It had been a moment of weakness.

Lucas hated being weak.

But he wouldn't lie to himself and say he could smother that down for eternity. Just for the duration of the Games. Until he came out the other end alive, he couldn't afford to be like other, every day, normal people. He had to be the kind of guy that could look a suffering girl in the eyes and still take her life from her.

He'd made a mistake yesterday. From now on, he couldn't do the same thing again.

Adrina wouldn't have liked what he was thinking. At the thought of her disapproving eyes hidden behind a sarcastic smile, Lucas grinned and brought his knees up to his chin. It hadn't been his plan to get connected. But even with someone like Lucas, who had driven off person after person, the good and the bad, Adrina had burrowed in deep and brought about a different combination of trust and friendship.

Her death was a hard thing to cope with. But he was coping. For her sake, as well as his own. With Adrina dead, there was no one else alive but himself and her District partner that could cherish her memory and remember the girl that had once been alive and fighting.

Ryon would not win because it would mean Lucas had to die.

Lucas would win. He had to.

His eyes hovered over the charred trees, the remains of the forest he'd burnt down, and saw the smoke clogging the sky and drowning it out in a thick, terrible blur. There was something in there. It wasn't quite whole or together. It was something that moved with the smoke, curled its wispy tendrils over the branches and peered out with red eyes at Lucas and the Arena.

He swallowed a lump of fear in his throat when he saw movement within the depths of that hell, and focused his eyes back on the Cornucopia stationed in front of him. Apart from the blood that had spilt, the fire that had raged through the village and trees, it was probably the only thing of true colour in this Arena.

He now had the bounty, which meant other people would flock to him. Like Rell had done against her will because of the hourglass, and tried to take from what wasn't his, but he now protected. If there was one thing he hated about what the Gamemakers had done so far, it had been what they'd done to Adrina. They'd forced her away, not even giving Lucas the chance to try to help her.

He wasn't going to pretend he cared more about her life than his own. If it had come down to it, he'd have ran to let her die if it meant his own survival. But he hadn't even had the damn chance to do something. He'd felt useless when he'd seen her face in the sky.

Lucas did not like feeling useless. Weakness, it was all the same. A Victor could not feel what he was feeling. They had to be strong.

He caught sight of movement that didn't belong to the smoke mutt. He tilted forwards ever so slightly, lifting his head to get a better look. His eyes picked up on something, near the edge of the Cornucopia. Lucas tensed when a figure moved from the shadows and peered round the golden horn.

They looked stunned to find there was nothing there. It was a boy, shaken and frightened, looking more worse for wear than anyone Lucas had ever seen. He'd been raised in Twelve. That was a statement which hammered in the horror of this Arena.

Marshall Kilbourne looked up and saw Lucas, in the distance, staring at him. The boy from Twelve immediately moved his hand for his spear. He thought of Rell and knew he would not hesitate, not this time, if he came anywhere close.

He expected him to.

The final nine. It wouldn't be long until the victor was decided and they got to go home. That would not happen if they did not stand and fight, if they didn't try, if they didn't give it their all. If the chances were looking bleak, Lucas would run. But he would still fight before finding that answer out.

This boy didn't know what Lucas could do. He didn't know what Marshall could do either. But rather than try for the supplies at his opponent's feet, he turned tail and fled, back into the shadows and out of sight.

Lucas let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

The prospect of killing, even though he'd already done it, did not excite him. In fact, it terrified him. A fight against Marshall wasn't a thrilling prospect, but he would have done it anyway. However he'd ran and now Lucas was alone, again, to wait and be patient as the tributes made their way through the Arena.

Soon enough, another might stumble this way. Lucas would be ready.

He had it in him to do what had to be done.

Whatever the cost.

* * *

Belarius was alone.

He had been for about twenty or so hours, ever since the Arena had turned upside down and Ivo had been taken away.

Belarius didn't do well alone, not after everything that had gone on so far. It was the first time since he had volunteered when he hadn't had someone near him. Aurelie, far from ideal company, had been with him until the formation of their alliance. And then it had been a team that he had seen hope in, only for that spark to be extinguished as Belarius realised the truth of their future.

Then, he'd had Ivo. And it was now, with the darkness above him and the flames scorching the air and travelling towards the village, that Belarius would find his ally. He knew what had to happen eventually. But eventually made it easier to handle. As long as it was only eventually and not the present, then Belarius could keep almost pretending that he needed Ivo and Ivo needed him.

He realised the folly of making friends in this place. Maybe if he reversed time he'd consider following Aurelie down the cold, darkened road that led to loneliness. But he knew, no matter how many times he went back, that that would never be the case. People were different.

They needed different things to keep them alive.

Belarius kept to the shadows of the houses, moving in-between those that had holes blasted into the trembling walls and the sidelines that were masked in the absence of light. As long as he didn't draw the attention of something, he'd be left alone.

He'd seen what had been dropped into the Arena, from the moon above. And he knew who was still left alive. Prosper was out there, somewhere, in a state that Belarius had no way of knowing. With Luella dead, and Ivo killing Darina, the safer bet would be to assume there would be no way of getting through to him. Prosper was a lost cause and he had to die.

Aurelie was the biggest threat. As Belarius continued on his search, all he could think about was his District partner and how she was still alive, even when the numbers continued to drop. He didn't like the way he would hope to see her face in the sky at the end of a day. He didn't like how each cannon might have signified the greatest threat dying and how, deep down, he actually felt happy over the idea.

Belarius had to tell himself it was more the self-preservation side of who he was that wanted her death, not anything else. Otherwise that truth was a lot darker than what their lives had become in this Arena.

He moved down another road, taking a sharp left and pausing to catch his breath. It was at that moment, Belarius heard a loud, terrible noise that shook the earth as something hit the ground with tremendous force. It wasn't too far from where he was now standing.

Belarius' blood ran cold. His face went pale, a sickly shade that gave away his fear almost immediately. He turned to peer round the corner and then threw himself backwards, clutching onto his sword, with the bow digging into his back as he almost toppled over. One of the creatures, the mutts that had fallen from the sky, was round the corner.

Belarius didn't want to look again. He didn't. But he had to know, he had to know if it was coming. As soon as his head tilted back round the corner, he knew he'd made an awful mistake. The mutt's red, soulless, hungry eyes fell on his own.

And then the chase ensued.

His heart hammered against his chest. His ribcage rattled around inside of him as he struggled to sprint as fast as he could. The Games hadn't made him strong in a physical sense. He was weakening, just like everyone else was. The trouble with losing strength, however, was the fact the mutts didn't seem to have the same thing being taken from them. It was gaining on him and gaining on him fast.

The largest of its arms, three times Belarius' height and thicker than a tree, swung itself at his head. Belarius ducked at the last moment and slashed the beast with his sword, cutting into its thick bristles that tore off. Bluish, inky blood poured from the cut as it roared, a low pitched menacing sound, and barged towards him even faster.

He'd angered it. Belarius swore under his breath and turned sideways and bolted for an open house. The second he made it out the back door, the entire building fell apart into rubble. The mutt was stronger than anything he'd ever seen before. Like a boulder, tearing apart anything in its wake. Belarius didn't want to think about what would happen if he slowed down, or was caught, or the mutt decided that it wanted to have fun with its prey.

The thought sent a nasty shiver down his spine. Belarius could deal with plotting his way through the Career alliance and how to pick his strongest foes off. But not some wild beast, on the Gamemaker's leash and hell-bent on his destruction. He panted, held onto his side when pain shot down his entire body, and took another right.

The village was a horrible maze. He took lefts and rights and more lefts. Everything looked the same at this point as he started to tire, his legs turning weak and his arms like lead weights against his torso. His vision went blurry as he turned another left.

His vision went dark the moment he collided with something and was thrown to the floor.

Belarius snapped to it, awake and alert the second his head hit the earth. He groaned and threw himself up, clutched onto his side, and felt the breath get knocked from his lungs once again at the sight of what was in front of him.

Aurelie stood, dirt-streaked from head to toe, opposite Belarius.

"Oh," he breathed, fear like a clutch round his heart.

It wasn't just because of Aurelie. It was because he could still hear it, slowing down somewhat, but still behind him. And now he had a fight a few feet from where he was standing. A tribute and a mutt that wanted his head.

She looked at her spear. He looked at his sword. He thought of Luella and what he'd done, what the girl from One had done for a girl that had made her life miserable. He would never make sense of it, but he'd moved on. Belarius felt guilty but that had been her choice to die for Aurelie.

Now it had to be him versus her.

Or it would have been, if not for what happened next.

From their left, two figures darted out and stopped short at the sight of Aurelie and Belarius. His heart shot straight into his throat at the sight of Ivo. He almost smiled and threw his arms around him. Then he saw Prosper, just behind him, and his heart dropped straight into his stomach.

The boy from One's eyes went from Belarius to Ivo and then to the girl not two feet from where he was standing.

"Prosper…" Ivo said, his voice low and worried.

He blinked twice, quivered with anger, and lunged.

* * *

Prosper wanted one thing and one thing only in that moment.

Aurelie saw it flash in his eyes before he'd taken the first step, and before he could take another, she brought her hand up and slapped him round the face. Prosper groaned and fell backwards, bringing a hand to his cheek where a red mark was starting to burn into his skin.

"You…" he was seething with rage and anger and sadness and everything else that had plagued him for too long. "You killed-"

Prosper was cut off by a terrible roar. Belarius and Ivo, staring at one another, then at Prosper and Aurelie, moved their eyes over their shoulders in the direction of the path southwards. More than anything, he wanted to kill Aurelie where she stood. Maybe then he would feel better. Maybe then he could stop what was happening to him and put an end to everything that was changing Prosper in a way he'd never wanted to change.

But when she met his eyes and brought her spear up, it wasn't to defend herself against him, it was to defend herself from what rounded the corner and stared at the four Careers.

Prosper tensed up at the sight of the beast before him. His anger was replaced with a fear that set heavy in his gut. He exchanged a look with the two Career boys before him, two of his friends that he'd wanted to use to kill the girl to his right, and then glanced down at his weapon.

"We can't… not now…" Ivo sounded panicked, but he also tried to make himself sound as calm as possible. He was the only one who seemed to be able to put thought into language. "Kill each other soon, we can't fight when this…" He was cut off by the mutt moving straight for them.

In its charge, Prosper made a decision that angered him once again. He looked at Aurelie, she looked at him, and together they nodded. He thought of Luella and felt the fear in his stomach morph into that of an inextinguishable grief.

He wanted her back more than anything. He wanted her back because she embodied everything that had been the centre point of Prosper's life up to this day. He was someone that could bring good to this world by helping other people. By making them feel special.

And now he had to help a girl that had killed his best friend. He had no choice. The mutt met the four of them and all doubt left his mind as its arm came swinging for his skull. He brought the flat of his spear up to block it away, rounding it back round his head and slicing open its forearm.

"Aurelie, you take it from the left. Belarius and I from behind. Prosper, try to hold it off from the front," Ivo's voice took on an impressive tone of leadership. Prosper nodded almost immediately and started to force it backwards. It was huge. If all four of them stood on each other's shoulders, maybe then they'd reach its height. Aurelie was pallid with fear. Prosper wanted to feel good at seeing her show such a thing, but he felt it just as much. He felt no such satisfaction at seeing her tremble.

She was the monster. Not him. He might have craved her death, but after that… after that he could – he would – feel normal again. _I have to, for Luella. For me. _

The mutt's other hand was like a club, short and stunted but round and strong. It tried to ward off Ivo and Belarius, bringing it back round its body to push Aurelie backwards a few steps as she cut into its left leg. Prosper could have ran. Any of them could have. But Ivo and Belarius would never abandon one another. Aurelie was far too proud to abandon a fight; one thing Prosper loathed about her. And Prosper, with her right next to him, could not just give up this opportunity.

He continued to force it backwards with each swing of his spear. The claws on its larger hand brought tears to his eyes as it grazed across his cheek. The same cheek Aurelie had slapped. He winced and shook away the pain, burying it down deep as he continued to push the attack on.

For a moment, with Aurelie proving her strength, with Belarius and Ivo a team as always, friends united in their fight, and Prosper's vigorous determination getting the best of the beast, they all thought they had a chance.

And then it started to grow.

The bristles on its back extended into long tendrils that swirled through the sky and lashed out at the four of them. They were all pushed back, forced onto the ground and away from the monster. Prosper watched its larger arm grow even larger. Its legs snapped and cracked and twisted into gargantuan limbs that were taller than all of them combined.

He watched with fear in his throat, blocking out any noise, as it started to move for him on the ground.

In that one moment, he knew he'd made a mistake. He'd let everything that had happened in this Arena get the best of him, right from the very start. He was weak. He was nothing like the hero he'd painted himself out to be. They did not exist. There was no such thing as a good person that came from where he did, volunteered to do what he wanted to do, because they were killers.

Prosper had taken lives to protect someone, but what about the people he had killed? They had lives. Families. Friends. People to fight for that he'd hurt more than anything. With the beast moving for him, a silent tear moved down his cheek as he closed his eyes and waited for death.

He waited a second. Then ten more. Then thirty. Maybe he was already dead and he hadn't realised it. But when he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a roar that trembled through the ground and nearly split it in half. He balled his hands into fists and watched Aurelie stab it in the leg. When it was distracted, Belarius and Ivo, sharing one quick look with Prosper who had been a second from death, started to attack it to draw it away.

They were helping him, like he'd always wanted to help them. Even Aurelie, a while ago, had been someone despite her true nature, he'd wanted to look after. And they were doing it for him. The girl he wanted to murder, the killer of his best friend, protecting him.

He stood up on shaky legs and grabbed hold of his spear.

Prosper made it one more step when it reared backwards, up into the air on its back legs, and growled into the sky. Its large arm whacked Aurelie right in the ribs. She tumbled backwards and groaned in pain as she squirmed on the ground. Belarius and Ivo looked at their enemy on the floor, in agony, and took a step forwards.

Prosper went in for the attack. But it was too late. They could have let him die and escaped. They could have been survivors and let Prosper take the fall so they could secure their lives. But even Aurelie had done something no Career was supposed to do. Killers did not die for other people. But these killers did.

It bent down and clamped its teeth round Ivo's head. Belarius could barely get a scream out before his best friend's face was torn in two, the forehead and eyes being swallowed, and the rest of the body falling down in a gory heap.

Belarius threw up and fell to his knees.

Aurelie looked at the sight and collapsed backwards.

Prosper listened to the cannon cut through the sky and launched his spear right at the mutt. He'd killed Varity for Luella. He'd killed Garner for Luella. And he would kill this mutt for someone that had died saving his life.

He impaled it right through its chest. A second ago, the cut might have done nothing. But with a kill secured, the Gamemakers let the mutt take the fall and writhe in agony as it died in a heap.

Prosper breathed heavily as he looked at Aurelie and Belarius, on the ground. And then on Ivo's gruesome corpse. From someone that had stuck to the shadows, to a boy that had proven himself to everyone.

And now he was dead. All because he'd tried to save Prosper's life

Heroes never won.

* * *

Aurelie didn't want to see.

She didn't want to see what had become of Ivo's body. But as she stood on her legs, a pain clawing down her spine and making her entire body shake, her eyes couldn't help but guide their own way towards the blood that spurted round his broken skull.

Belarius' eyes were on his torso. His hand, extended outward. His legs. Anything but what had become of his friend. She felt sorry for him. She felt sorry for Prosper. For Luella. For Darina. For everything that had happened to everyone, living or dead.

Aurelie wanted out. She wanted to go home.

She wanted peace.

When Prosper finally stood up, the mutt dead before him, he looked down at Belarius and took a step in his direction. Aurelie watched her District partner flinch when he saw Prosper attempt to comfort him. She admired that about Prosper. Even after everything, faint flickers of his old self poured through. He couldn't see Belarius in pain.

_But he doesn't know the truth…_

Prosper turned around and faced Aurelie. Rather than anger turning his face a fiery shade of red, something else made his entire skin prickle with heat. He looked down at the ground and then at the mutt. When he pulled his spear free, Aurelie didn't tense. She didn't do anything but watch him step back to where he had been when he'd thrown it. He tried to keep his eyes from landing on her but he couldn't.

"Aurelie…" His voice was weak and hoarse. Shattered and broken. He took a step in her direction. Aurelie didn't flinch like Belarius had. She stayed on her two feet and let him take another step. Then another.

She was not afraid. Of others things, she was terrified. But not Prosper. Not some poor, unfortunate boy who didn't understand the world. Who was trying so hard to see, with everything that had happened to him, but was breaking under the reality that pushed down on his shoulders. Aurelie had told herself she was the only one who really had a concept of the Games already in her head before they began.

She would not die. But neither would she be that same girl, the same girl who told Prosper off for being what he was.

As he levelled his spear, targeted for her chest, she wanted him and everyone else to find the sort of peace she'd never had for herself. The Games had been a mistake. But they'd also changed her. Maybe for the better.

She didn't feel so angry.

The problem was, she didn't feel much of anything.

She dodged his first attack, the spear heading straight for her stomach. She then twisted out of reach and punched him in the back of the head, bringing him down to the ground on one knee. Aurelie watched Prosper's eyes go between a faint trace of the rage that had driven him towards her before the mutt, and what he now felt.

"You have to…" he stood up and swung again, attempting to split open her chest. She hit his attack away but never went for her own. Never went to strike him down. Something made her stop herself. "You have to… die… you have to die…"

When he went to cut open her neck, something from behind knocked him to the side before Aurelie could defend herself. Belarius stood over Prosper, shaking his head with tears in his eyes. The light in them had been snuffed out with Ivo's life. He was practically on the verge of total collapse.

But he still had something in him. Aurelie looked at Belarius and Prosper, staring at one another, from below and from above, and saw her District partner kick his spear away and shake his head.

"She didn't do it."

Prosper went still. She hadn't thought it possible, but he went even paler then, before quivering on the earth like a leaf in the wind.

"No… no she did… she did…"

Aurelie knew why he wanted her dead so much. He thought she had killed Luella. Maybe before her death, she'd thought about it. She'd thought about silencing her cries, or those incessant laughs before the horrors of the Games smacked her stupid, beautiful face with a terrifying reality. But the thought of actually doing it, knowing what Luella had done for Aurelie, made her hate herself even more than she might have done before she'd volunteered.

"I didn't," Aurelie said, "I didn't kill Luella."

"Yes you did." Prosper tried to stand up, but Belarius kicked him back down. "You did. There's no other…"

"I did it." Belarius eyes didn't meet Prosper's. "I killed Luella. I killed Luella because she gave her life for Aurelie. She died for her."

His pretend reality was crumbling down. He shook his head and scrambled backwards. Prosper made it onto his feet before either could stop them, pulling out a knife from behind his back, clipped to his belt, and waving it in front of him.

"Luella would not… she wouldn't die for… for you." Prosper's voice was on the brink of hysteria. He kept looking at Ivo's dead body and the mutt and shook even harder. "You made her life hell. She wouldn't have died saving someone like you. No. No. You killed her!"

Belarius and Aurelie looked at one another. They didn't share a mutual affection, they didn't share much of anything. But when Prosper's voice went silent and his eyes landed on the ground at their feet, then at his knife, then at the two of them, they were united in one thing.

When he went in for an attack, clouded by the lies he'd told himself, Belarius and Aurelie disarmed him and drove him off. He scampered away, a backpack over his shoulder, and out of sight. They could still hear his sobs as he descended into darkness.

Now it was just the two of them.

Belarius laughed. A sad, strangled laugh that had nothing of the old Belarius in it. "I'm surprised you didn't kill him."

Aurelie laughed too. She couldn't stop herself. "He's dead already. The Prosper that came into this Arena died the moment he drove a spear into that girl's face."

Belarius nodded and looked at the sword in his hand. Aurelie watched his eyes move for her spear, and when he sidestepped away from her, she knew what had to happen.

She knew what she had to do.

His knees knocked together as his laughs soon turned to sobs. His eyes looked over his shoulder and landed on Ivo's body. The bond they'd shared matched nothing Aurelie had ever shared with anyone. She wouldn't know their friendship because she'd driven off anyone that had tried to break through her walls.

She'd always thought she was better than people because it was easier to think that than blame herself. And now Belarius, laughing and crying all at the same time, couldn't even hate her for what she'd made him do. The Careers could have been something different if it wasn't for her.

Friends did not exist in the Arena, but they could have shared something close to it. Belarius wouldn't have killed Luella. Ivo wouldn't have killed his own District partner. Prosper wouldn't have fallen apart. And Aurelie wouldn't have had to face her true self.

If she'd only have been different.

But she wasn't. She was this. She was a bad, terrible person.

"Do you think there's something after?"

Aurelie shrugged her shoulders. "None of us can know."

"I hope there is," he smiled. "Maybe they'll be there. Ivo. Darina. Luella. Everyone. Maybe it's better there."

"Maybe it is," Aurelie smiled with him and watched his grip tense round his sword. She readied her spear and let Belarius make the first move.

"Goodbye, Aurelie."

He walked forwards. "Goodbye, Belarius."

His sprint ended with Aurelie's spear impaling him through the chest. She made it quick and painless. After all the hurt she'd caused existing as herself, it was the least she could do.

Belarius had found his peace.

Now Aurelie had to find hers.

* * *

Another day in the Arena slowly came to an end.

Rell waited until the faces faded from view. Belarius and Ivo. Two more Careers down.

With their deaths confirmed, she moved out from her shelter and towards her next destination. She had a plan. She'd had a plan for the whole day. But with the Career pack cut in half once more, hope became a real thing inside of her.

She thought of Cillian as she moved back the way she'd came. Most of her life, Rell had lived because she'd known the inevitability of death. People died every second. Every day. Week, month and year. Twenty-three died for the sake of the Hunger Games, and then it went on and on and on.

She'd known the second she'd been reaped if she wanted to win, the friendly boy that had looked at her vomit on the escort's shoes, with a sweet smile on his face, would have to die. And now that he was, Rell hated the way the world worked even more than she already did.

Maybe the Careers killed him or maybe they didn't. She wasn't angry at them. She'd never really been angry at any one person for a long period of time. She said what she felt and defended those that she wanted to help because Rell didn't hold back from doing what had to be done.

She wouldn't hate those that were here because the Capitol had corrupted them into believing this was their path. She would hate those that had put this into place, knowing what it meant to kill twenty-three innocent kids every year and continuing with it anyway.

Rell wanted to live to prove a point. She wanted to live to show them they couldn't just expect her to die.

And to live, the others had to do just that.

Rell wasn't far off from where she'd started yesterday. The sand hill was in the distance, above the houses where the Cornucopia was stationed behind the line of buildings. Eveny was still out there. She wanted to find her friend more than anything, but Rell had to cling to the hope that they would cross paths eventually.

What might have to happen wouldn't turn out well, but she'd still have the chance to see someone she cared about. Before the inevitable once again came to take away those that only wanted to live. Life wasn't fair.

She first came across Marshall, tucked away in the shadows of a house. Before she could open her mouth to say two words to him, he was out of sight and deeper into the village. The second person she came across however, closer to midnight, stopped and watched her step closer towards him.

Ryon Blythe held onto his sword, but he didn't lift it to attack her. He smiled when she smiled. His eyes were tired and pained, his entire body shaking with some burden that had become part of his life. Rell felt the exact same way. It was the burden of being a normal teenager, forced to kill other normal teenagers.

The burden of living in a country as rotten as the one they were forced into.

"What are you doing so close to the front of the Arena?" Rell asked, curious like she'd always been.

He smiled. "I've been walking and looking and searching and walking some more. No idea what for. Maybe a fight. But I don't really feel up for one."

"Me neither."

The two shared a laugh. It felt strange to laugh, but also freeing. The Capitol could take away whatever they wanted from them, strip them for parts and piece together a new monster crafted in horror.

But they would never steal the ability to smile from a girl that lived by her laughter.

"What about you?" He raised an eyebrow, stepping forwards. "Why are you here?"

"A plan."

"Plan?"

"Two Careers are still out there. Two Careers, me, you, my ally, Marshall and the boy from Twelve. He's at the Cornucopia."

"And you want to go say hello?"

Something about the mention of the boy from Twelve made Ryon's fear show itself too clearly. Lucas' ally was dead. Ryon's very own District partner. Maybe something had transpired between the three of them that made Ryon fear the presence of Lucas. But Rell needed this to work. It was the only way she could live to show the world that she couldn't be beaten, even when they stole one of the nicest, friendliest, gentlest boys from existence.

She would live so he could live on.

"The Games are always brought back to the Cornucopia. The bloodbath starts it, the finale ends it. If we're together – the outliers – then a fight will be pushed towards us. The Careers will come."

"And when they do?"

Rell frowned. "And when they do, if we're united together, one final alliance, they'll die."

"And when they die?"

"And when they die, the fight continues. But it'll be a fairer fight. A fight where someone can survive and live on in memory of those that didn't choose this fate."

"Inspiring," Ryon smirked. "Any luck with the others?"

"Marshall ran. Eveny is still out there. But me and you are here, and Lucas is at the Cornucopia. If we can convince him, it'll still be the three of us and the two Careers. Maybe we'll die. But at least we'll die on our terms. Not scurrying around like rats in the shadows, alone, scared shells of ourselves waiting for death."

Ryon nodded.

When he extended a hand, she met it and secured their temporary truce. Peace was an impossible thing in the Arena, but for a short while, they could find it in hope that these Games could be brought to an end and finished up soon.

She was done waiting and praying and hoping she wouldn't die. If she was going to die, it was time to damn well get on with it. Rell didn't crave a fight. She was no killer. But Ryon and her were ready, walking towards the Cornucopia, to bring about an end to the Games and find out who would survive.

They saw Lucas in the distance, when they stepped towards where everything had begun, and made the short walk towards him.

Rell wanted to win. But to win, the Careers had to die. Everyone else had to die.

One final push, and she could make it. Not just for herself, but for everyone else that had fallen for some sick idea about what peace meant for the Capitol.

The end wasn't too far off. She could see it, on the horizon, a way out of this Arena. Her future.

She'd do anything for it.

Anything for a chance at life.

It meant too much to her.

* * *

_**Ivo Koehn, District Four Male.**_

_**Belarius Orleans, District Two Male.**_

* * *

**Mack. Ivo ;_; I like Careers like him. I love the types that realise what they have to do, but have things that draw them back from being totally willing to do it. He wanted what was best for people in a way that was more grounded than say Luella or Prosper, but made him feel human and someone that could develop past that ideal. He stood out alone and he stood out with Belarius. Past this point, there wasn't much else going for him. But that doesn't change how much I genuinely enjoyed his character and how much I'm going to miss writing for him and everything that made him a great tribute. Thanks for submitting!**

**Chaos. Belarius ;_; If the two of them had died together in the same chapter two or three chapters ago, I might have been missing out on development for the one that lasted longer. But I feel that now was a good time to bring about the end to probably the strongest alliance in the Games. Some of them had more members, but these two had a bond that really made them probably the toughest contenders. I enjoyed his charm, his friendliness, but also his understanding of the realities of what people were like and how he couldn't be with everyone. It was something that went really well with Ivo's more trusting side. In the end, building up such a friendship broke him in those last few moments, and past Ivo's death, I couldn't see much else but Belarius breaking even further and losing what made him such a great tribute to write. I'll miss him, like I'll miss Ivo just as much. rip belarivo ;_;**

* * *

**I want to apologise for this being late, but really, by normal standards, it isn't. I guess compared to daily/two day updates it is. So… sorry?**

**Quick thing; I have a request for those that had to endure me in my really irritating drunken state a few days ago. I spoiled something regarding this story and I'd really like it if it wasn't mentioned in reviews so people who don't know are still left surprised by what might happen. It's only fair, really. The reviews for this story are a spoiler-free zone, thank you ;)**

**See you with the next chapter!**


	27. False Heart

**Chapter Twenty-Seven.**

* * *

He'd done it again.

Two tributes he could have killed. One with a spear throw. The other a knife to the heart. Quick and easy, tallying up the tributes that had fallen until he was the only one remaining.

And yet, Lucas had said yes. _Yes. _Because he wasn't an idiot and this plan could work.

Rell was annoying in the sort of way Lucas had distanced himself from. The annoying that made Lucas who he was today – a loner, but not because he couldn't be around others, but because he didn't want to.

Then there was Ryon. Lucas couldn't meet his eye and Ryon couldn't meet his. He'd killed Dante, his last ally, and let him run off into the wilderness, towards his future frightened and alone. Anyone else might have felt shame at their actions. Lucas didn't. Lucas understood that he'd done what had to be done, and looking back, he'd do it again.

That was the difference between a tribute that would never reach the end, and a tribute like Lucas, in the final seven, on the path to victory. He hadn't liked killing Dante. And he wouldn't like killing Rell or Ryon. But he would. He held the spear close to him and a dagger at his hip. When the time was right, when Rell's plan had proved fruitful, one slit throat and a spear through the abdomen and he'd be in the final three.

If things went to plan.

Rarely did everything go sweetly. But Lucas was a sour sort of person at heart. He was prepared for the worst.

Rell looked at Lucas, sitting halfway up the hill, and grinned. "My neighbour used to say if the wind blew the wrong way, guys and gals with faces like that would get stuck looking ugly all their lives."

Ryon laughed. Lucas met Rell's eyes and smug smile, shrugged his shoulders, and let his gaze fall onto the sand. "District Three must be very windy."

Rell ignored his insult.

"I'm surprised you said yes, you know. Not the friendliest guy around, are you?"

_I'm surprised too, I could have killed you two days ago. I could have killed you last night. And yet, here you are. Because you're smart, I'm smart, and this plan is smart. I like smart. _

"You don't strike me as the sort to play nice."

"I don't play fair either," Lucas let his own smug smile grace his features. He pointed with his hand, weapon-less, towards the smoke and the burning forest. "My masterpiece."

"And how many tributes did you kill with your masterpiece?" Rell cocked an eyebrow. He'd wiped plenty of those kinds of smiles off smug little shits' faces before. He'd looked in a mirror and seen his own smiles looking just like that. Rell was a contender. He'd never noticed it before. Now he was.

Lucas grunted. "I didn't need to kill anyone with that. I just needed to let the Gamemakers know I mean business. Take away a place to hide for those less willing to fight."

"Are you willing to fight?"

"Ask Ryon," Lucas moved his train of sight towards the quieter boy from Six, dragging his knife through the sand as it fell through his fingers. "He'll have an answer for you."

Ryon liked Rell. He liked her a lot. Back in Six, he'd probably have felt the exact same way as Lucas did, held back, pent-up, withdrawn and isolated because people like her were a stain in an already fucked up, dirty world.

Then he'd come here. Then he'd met Dante.

Ryon did not like Lucas. It wasn't even because of what he'd done to his friend. Ryon had killed Adrina, something he hadn't told Lucas, and he was sure the boy from Twelve on some level might understand. Deep down, at least.

Ryon hated Lucas because he thought he was better than everyone else. Maybe he was a player in this game. He had to be, to make it this far. Killing strong boys from Eight, burning forests to cut off escape routes, taking control of the Cornucopia. Unheard of from an outlier, let alone a kid from Twelve.

But respect and likeability were two different things. Ryon didn't want to spend a single second more than he had to in Lucas' presence. The plan required his skill, but after that, he would kill him and be done with it. Kill Rell, if he had to. Because at this point, alliances were not made of friends. Alliances were made of killers waiting to kill some more and make it home, alive.

The three of them knew that. There was no more pretending.

He realised Rell had been staring at him for thirty or so seconds. She might have been loud and bold, but she was also surprisingly patient and gentle. When she realised Lucas had hit a spot that Ryon did not want uncovered, she glared back at the boy from Twelve and moved closer to Ryon's side.

"Ignore him, boys like that are drowning in so much testosterone, just a whiff of it from someone that might be better than them drives them rabid. Like a feral dog."

"Do I look feral?" Lucas said, stabbing his dagger into the sand. It wasn't level ground. He lost balance and his hand slipped down. When Rell started to laugh and Ryon grinned, Lucas stood up and stormed off, flashing a nasty glare over his shoulder. "You wouldn't have come here if you didn't need me. Or you'd have tried to kill me."

"Yeah we would have," Rell nodded, smiling. "Doesn't mean we have to like you. You're useful. Like Ryon is."

"Difference is she likes me," Ryon laughed.

Rell looked at him, Ryon winked, and the two of them fell into a fit of giggles.

_Like ten year old girls. _Lucas sat down nearer to the Cornucopia. Though he knew they were aware of what had to be done, just like Ryon felt towards Lucas, Lucas felt it straight back and realised that liking them did not come into the equation.

The knife itched in his fingers. The spear balanced in the dirt. He needed a fight. He didn't want to kill someone, but he couldn't deny what had happened to him when he'd killed Dante. The level of control over his own chances that had filled him with fire.

When he'd burned down the forest. Taken the Cornucopia. Even said yes to Rell and Ryon. He'd done all of that because he knew the way things worked and relished the idea that he was in charge. It might have been Rell's plan, but they'd craved his yes. They'd needed his yes.

A no would have ruined everything.

With a wind picking up, howling as a breeze lashed his cheeks, he watched the two of them whispering and laughing. Lucas missed Adrina. He missed the idea of what it meant to have a friend. But she'd never been that sort of friend.

They were distracting themselves, impatiently waiting for what had to happen. Lucas had other ways of biding his time. A fight would soon break out. A fight he had to win because he hadn't made it this far just to keel over and die.

District Twelve kids never made it to this point.

He'd proved his home wrong since he was a little boy. Now he was proving to the whole country what someone like Lucas could do.

It was the ultimate brand of control.

* * *

_Who am I?_

Prosper ran, blindly, round corners, down roads and into houses that all blurred together. He had no idea what was happening. Not on the outside. The Arena was irrelevant. The tributes he didn't know, meaningless faces blending into the background.

All Prosper could think about, grasping onto the ground when he slipped and stumbled, latching onto air for something to keep him steady, were the things he did know. And the things he did know, he wanted out of his head as fast as possible.

Luella was dead because she'd saved Aurelie. Aurelie was alive because someone she'd tormented had decided to sacrifice her life for her own. And then Prosper, lost through despair and anger and grief, had let the final pieces chip off from his exterior and show him for the mess he really was.

He'd wanted revenge, when all along, he'd missed the bigger picture. He was the monster. He was the awful human being that had trained for this all his life, believed he was some kind of knight in shining armour, that the sky wasn't the limit, that everything and anything could be achieved if you simply tried.

People were nice in that make belief world. Prosper was a hero. Everyone and everything had its place and Panem was nothing like the nightmares he knew, right here and now, it really was. And at its core, lying to himself for eighteen years of his life, was Prosper Livingston. He'd trained to kill children. He'd smothered it under smiles and laughs and cheer and love. But the truth was the truth. He'd trained and idolised something that murdered young kids, took their lives away without reason, until they were nothing but memories.

And for Prosper, that had been okay. He'd believed in himself. He'd believed in the Career cause. He'd believed in everything that made him what he was. Prosper's entire life had been a lie.

Even now, there were faint remnants of that Prosper. Because in his heart, he was a good person, somewhere, corrupted by what the world wanted from him. His delusions had taken a sweet, innocent boy and turned him into a monstrous blend of love and destruction. He wanted to protect Aurelie, now he knew the truth. He wanted to help her and make right the wrongs he'd longed for, him hungering in the shadows after her life.

He'd wanted to kill her and now he wanted to save her. But at the heart of every Career, lying deep down, was the reason they trained for the Games. No one volunteered to die. And Prosper, even after everything that had gone on, through hell and high water, did not want to die. He was scared. He wanted to live and go back to One and see his father and pretend none of it had happened.

He wanted peace, even though he was the cause of all this pain.

And for him to go home, Aurelie and everyone else, innocent or not, had to die for that to happen. Which made Prosper even worse. Because… because he wasn't turning his back on that inevitability. Even as he ran, leaving the line of houses and into whatever was beyond, he wasn't running from what he had to do, but rather what he'd done. The backpack rattled with the last few knives he had in store. Knives that he could use to kill.

Because, Prosper, as he realised where he'd stepped into, the smoke thick and suffocating, knew he had to take more lives to win. All his life he'd told lies to himself to make him feel better. Because underneath everything, he knew he'd hated himself. He knew he was nothing special. But those lies had made living a sweet, gentle bliss. It was like this whole time he'd been floating on a cloud, laughing with his friends and living his life the way it was meant to be lived.

Now, he needed another lie. He needed to tell himself that he would win for Luella, Darina, Ivo, Belarius and Aurelie. He needed to tell himself he was killing other people for them, so their memories wouldn't fade into nothingness. Because if he told himself he would take more lives just for his own, then Prosper would become empty. He'd become what every Career knew, on some level, they really were.

He continued into the forest. The trees were burning, fire streaked across the twisted branches that clawed the sky, as if crying in agony as their limbs were slowly charred. He watched with sad eyes at the destruction around him, a metaphor what was inside of himself. Everything he'd done up until now had led to this realization.

Prosper fell onto his knees, in a clearing, surrounded by flaming trees, and let his head fall into his hands. Luella's face went round and round before his eyes. Varity's. Garner's. Darina's. Everyone that he had ever seen, people he'd killed or those that had died by someone else's hand, attacked him, they teased him, they pulled and tugged on Prosper's core and told him for what he really was.

When he lifted his head up and the mist in front of his eyes cleared, he settled on a spot through the trees, where the village he'd just ran through sat on the horizon.

If he was nothing more than a monster, a monster that had been caged underneath a boy that couldn't have existed in a country like Panem, then he needed to be that creature so he could survive. With a knife in his hand. A spear. A sword. A bow. Whatever he had to do, he would do it.

_One more lie, one more deception, and I'll kid myself into victory. _He smiled and stood up, standing shakily on two legs that knocked together.

Everyone elsewhere, living within the Arena or outside, might have thought Aurelie was the worst Career. Or someone with a higher score, Darina or Belarius.

But they were wrong.

It was Prosper.

_And I have to accept that._

* * *

After all the horror that had gone on inside the Arena, Eveny still found herself capable of smiling.

Kids had died. Kids had murdered. Kids had fought. And kids had suffered. All in the name of the ultimate wrong. But Eveny had made it this far. She'd upheld her promise to those she'd loved because nothing mattered more to Eveny than what she had for her back at home.

Friends and family were the be all and end all of her existence. And she was making them proud, upholding her promise step after step, chin up and confidence on. As long as she believed in herself, then the other six would topple down and she could make it to the finish line.

If she had any other choice, she'd make the other one. She'd save Rell's life, and the two Careers, and the others that were out there. But in the Games, Eveny could either live and fight, or give in to temptation and resist the inevitable. And then she would die.

Eveny would not die in this godforsaken hell.

Earlier on, sometime after morning, she'd come across the dead body of a mutt. The size of a small holdfast. Even its arms made Eveny's stomach somersault with fear. The idea of a tribute dying made Eveny smile because it meant she was closer to winning, not the fact they had died. But the fact that such a creature was gone did not make Eveny feel guilty over the joy of its demise.

She was safer because it had died.

Now she was nearer to the shoreline. She'd made a loop over the past few days. Likewise with the choice of living or dying, on the other side of the same coin, there was hunt or stay put. Sometimes the idle were lucky. But at this stage, Eveny knew she had to seek out something. She had to be a part of what the Capitol wanted and give it the end they craved.

She wasn't a talented fighter. She didn't brag about talents she knew she didn't possess. But something inside of Eveny's heart, her determination to survive, gave Eveny that necessary boost towards the right direction. Which was why Eveny knew, the moment the water started to divert towards her, that the time had come to do what had to be done.

It had grown more violent ever since she'd been split from her alliance. She'd hated the idea of loneliness, the idea that her friend Cillian was dead, but she'd moved on from it and adapted. This situation had to be handled the same way.

The waves lapped over her feet, rose up her shins, and drenched her knees to the bone. Though its depths were black and menacing, it was strangely warm as roads were blocked off by the rising tide and narrower streets were left with enough space for her to manoeuver through.

She groaned with pain when the water washed her into the side of the building. Battered and bruised through a week or so in the Arena, Eveny wasn't one to complain. She persevered and carried on through, head high and prepared. Someone in the Capitol had sponsored her. The backpack over her shoulder was heavy with food and the machete in her hand gave her something to defend herself with.

Or attack. Whichever she did, Eveny had what she needed to succeed.

She turned right when the water barricaded the way left. And left when it rose and blocked the right. She weaved through the labyrinth of houses, burnt to a crisp, black and charred with fire, and splashed with the water at her feet. Eveny had always liked the calmness of water. Even though what she waded through was as black as the starless sky, for a moment, it was easy to be lulled into a sense of peace.

And then the water fell apart, dragged her forwards, and she fell to her knees past the line of houses. Up ahead, she saw the familiar glint of the Cornucopia, golden even without the sunlight bearing down upon its surface. The sandy hill rose, mirroring the one on the other side of the Arena, and the pedestals stood rigid at the summit.

What made Eveny hold back a gasp, however, were the three faces that looked back at her. Ryon Blythe, filthy from head to toe. Lucas Roux, straight-faced and calm. And then Rell. Rell Arlington, her ally and friend.

"Eveny…" Rell's eyes widened with joy. She took one step down the hill and motioned to the boys to not to be worried. Eveny squared her shoulders and raised her hand an inch. "Eveny, it's me!"

"Rell." Her voice was sombre and sad. Resigned to their fate. "Why… why are you here with them?"

"We have a plan," Rell explained, excited and cheerful as she neared Eveny's still form. "I'll fill you in-"

Her smile dropped when she saw the weapon in Eveny's hands. And then her eyes widened with fear at something behind Eveny, something coming straight for the two of them.

She got one look over her shoulder before she was swept aside, to the right and then knocked closer towards Rell. She caught her in her arms and then the waters pushed them apart, opposite sides of one another as it flooded the Cornucopia area.

Lucas and Ryon were forced away from the two girls. Eveny and Rell exchanged a startled, fearful look at each other, and then both glanced at the water ring around them. The two from Six and Twelve were blocked off. Rell and Eveny faced one another, friends and former allies, with nowhere else to go.

Eveny realised what had happened before Rell did.

"I didn't want it this way."

"What way?" Rell asked, confused. "You didn't want what which way?"

Rell's panicked stares, the way she whipped her head left and right at the water and at Ryon and Lucas, her fiery hair slapping her cheeks, made Eveny giggle with past memories at the front of her mind. When they'd all been together and Cillian had been alive.

"They knew I wanted a fight," Eveny laughed, sadly. "And of course, never trust a Gamemaker. The one fight I get is the one I really didn't want."

"Oh," Rell's frantic movements settled down and her eyes fell on Eveny's machete once again. Then at the sword in her hand. "I see."

Eveny took a step forward and shook her head. "I didn't want it to be this way."

"Yeah you did, we all did. It's the final seven, Eve'. We all want out of this."

"And yet you're here with them?" Eveny asked, gesturing to their audience, side by side, confused and fearful, watching the two girls face off. "They're… enemies. That's all anyone has ever been."

"They aren't our enemies. They did nothing wrong except get reaped and forced here, just like us." Before Eveny could interrupt, Rell nodded her head with a sorrowful smile on her face. "Yes, everyone has to die if you're to have any hope at winning. You have to die for me. I have to die for you. But there are people out there that volunteered for this, still alive, with training that we can't hope to match. We were coming together to fight them, kill them, and make this a fairer contest."

Eveny saw the brilliance behind the plan. Rell's determination being the fire at its very heart. That was always Rell. Focused until the end. Bold and bold throughout. And now it wouldn't work. Because the Gamemakers wanted the fight.

Because: "The Hunger Games will never be fair."

Eveny charged at Rell and swiped out with her machete. The attack was backed by Eveny's conviction, even when it was against her close friend. Rell jumped straight into the same fighting mode and brought her sword up to match the blow, steel grinding against steel as she forced her sword and Eveny's machete further into the air.

Rell brought her hand down, her blade hitting the ground, and pushed Eveny's machete backwards. Eveny was grim-faced. Rell sad and regretful over their circumstance. She'd wanted the fight to be against the Careers. And here she was, forced by the Gamemakers to give them a show of former friends, a battle to the death.

Rell swiped her other arm across and back-handed Eveny. Her cheek immediately went red as she bit down a shout, clenching her fist and striking out at Rell's stomach. The girl from Three took the blow, the wind getting knocked from her, and met it with a sword cut to the shoulder.

Eveny hissed as the cold steel bit into her skin. Blood immediately welled up, but compared to what could happen, she knew it was nothing and continued on. Out the corner of her eye, she could see Lucas and Ryon. Ryon was nervously looking between the boy that stood beside him and the two girls fighting. Then there was Lucas, who kept his eyes trained on Rell's every movement, practically like two slits with the dark pupils surveying his temporary ally.

Eveny had no time to dwell on that. She matched Rell's next attack and brought the hilt of her machete up to block a sword swipe down. Eveny stumbled backwards, gathering her balance on her feet, and kicked out at Rell.

Rell groaned when she met her knee. There was a painful clicking noise followed by Rell scrambling backwards on her elbows, raising her sword to defend herself from Eveny's attack, and then using the end to help herself up.

"You're good," Rell said, smiling.

"I'm nothing." Eveny returned the gesture. "But we do what we have to do."

"Yeah," Rell advanced, "yeah we do."

She grabbed a fistful of Eveny's hair, and before she could do anything about it, her nose exploded with pain and blood as it connected with Rell's knee. She screamed and flailed backwards, strands of her matted blonde hair being ripped from her scalp as she struggled to free herself.

Rell watched with horror at what she'd done. Something went through her eyes. Something both Lucas, patiently observing, and Eveny, writhing in pain, could see. Rell swallowed what restrained her and continued on.

Eveny slapped her around the face, slit open her shoulder; a machete swipe that nearly decapitated her. Rell retaliated with cracking her fist against Eveny's already broken nose. The pain was stunning. Her entire head went black, then burst into white, and her eyes settled on a blurry Rell, stepping forwards with her sword out.

She ducked when she went to cut her head from her shoulders. Eveny brought her fist into Rell's stomach and then did the same thing to her. With surprising strength, as Rell doubled over, she broke her friend's nose against her knee and pushed her away.

"Fuck me that hurts," Rell yelled, blood dripping through her fingers.

"You're telling me."

Eveny launched at Rell. Rell launched at Eveny. Two friends in the worst kind of situation, doing what had to be done. Eveny's machete slid up Rell's sword until it reached the very point, cutting into thin air.

She pulled back to slice open her stomach. But in that second, one fraction of a moment, Eveny saw what was coming towards her before she could hold it off. Eveny had a machete. Rell had the Cornucopia where she'd found a sword. The weapon was larger and longer.

Before she could get her final attack in, Rell's sword met her neck and bit halfway into the skin.

In that moment, Eveny's pain ended and she blacked out. All her fight draining from her body in a single flash. But Rell had to watch with horror, as her friend's cannon cut the sky, and Eveny's head dangled on a thread of gore as the body tumbled down into a heap before her feet.

"…Eveny…" The water receded and Rell vomited. It mixed with the blood and bone until she vomited again, emptying her stomach.

"It's becoming my thing…" Rell stumbled away, forwards, then backwards, until she didn't know where to go.

Her eyes found Ryon and Lucas, both of them pointing over her shoulder to something happening by the shore closest to the sand hill. It curved inland as the water lowered, down and down until a new structure was shown. A building the exact same shape and form as the one on the opposite side of the Arena.

"The tomb," Rell and Ryon breathed out, at the exact same moment.

They knew what had to be done the moment they said that. And when they did, all Rell could do was cry and laugh as she collapsed to the ground.

When Eveny's lifeless body was placed inside the empty coffin, they waited. Then they waited some more. And then they waited until they felt like they'd been here an eternity. Nothing happened. Rell met Ryon's eyes and together they slumped downwards, against the coffin, with their head in their hands.

Rell and her alliance had been prepared to hunt down a twelve year old girl. They'd then used the body of a kill Cillian made to attempt to use the tomb. Then there was Ryon who had sought after Lucas and Adrina, killed his District partner, only for her body to be snatched away.

The realised it together.

There was no reward. The Gamemakers wanted one thing and one thing only. The tributes would do anything to one another for a slim shot at victory. This tomb had presented such an opportunity. Ryon had killed a friend. Rell had killed a friend.

And it was all because the Gamemakers wanted their own reward; they wanted to see the tributes reveal their true selves. Strip away the humanity and show these kids for what they really were, underneath everything.

Rell laughed again.

"The Hunger Games will never be fair," Rell said, reflecting on her lost friend.

Fair did not exist.

* * *

He knew what was coming.

Marshall looked up at the sky and fell back on his arms. When he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he wasn't in the Arena. That the scrubby, awful person he'd once been was still out there, in Five, behind his counter and selling his little trinkets. Back then, things were hard, but hard in a fun way.

Marshall liked that game. He thrived on it. Power and corruption. It had been Marshall's very being and he'd been good at it. He wasn't good at this game. This was a game of real strength. He'd never been strong or skilled or talented at anything but a game of words and wit.

Words and wit would never win him the Hunger Games.

Now, in the Arena, he was nothing like that awful person that had once been. Goodness had found its way into his heart and it had been that goodness that had corrupted him into who he was now. A war had ravaged who he was, tearing at his very seams, turning everything he'd known inside out.

As he stared up at the blank sky, an empty canvas, he could picture Acacia's face in make belief stars, glittering in space. Cillian's smile bearing down on him, away from here, before the Arena had taken its toll. They were pictures that went round and round his head, reminding him what the real cost of this Game meant, and however good he thought he was becoming, that deep down awful, talented Marshall still understood the price of survival.

And it was a price he'd hated to pay.

The warm black water rolled over his body from his position. He struggled at first, thrashing around and spluttering when it got into his mouth and choked him. But after a few minutes, he gave up the fight and closed his eyes once more, falling back and letting the splashes act as music to guide him to sleep.

He managed to get a few minutes of blissfulness before he choked once more. He woke up under the water. It had risen past his shoulders and now drenched his already greasy, bloody hair. Marshall clawed his way up and took deep breaths, clutching his chest as his eyes slowly started to clear.

The water was rising, twisting and turning as it made its way towards him. For a second, Marshall nearly convinced himself to lie back down and let the waters guide him to his death. It would hurt for a minute or two. He would struggle. And then it would be peace.

Nothing more, nothing less.

But Marshall, in all his gloom and sadness, in all his past intelligence and pretend apathy, stood up on his feet and slowly walked away from where the water was rising high and higher still. They were moving him somewhere.

A cannon had sounded not that long ago. An hour or two, maybe. He was near to the shoreline and he knew that he was moving even closer to the main body of water. In a matter of minutes, Marshall stood, breathing in and breathing out, exhausted, in front of the large expanse of black nothingness.

It extended as far as the eye could see. Somewhere out there, the barrier ended and beyond would be whatever surrounded the Arena. Capitol hovercrafts and cars and people, like little worker ants, making sure their creation worked as smooth as possible.

Smooth being tragedy for those unfortunate enough to be caged within.

He looked down at the sand and the water lapping his boots, moving up to his knees as he struggled to step forwards, and paused at the sound of a larger splash.

It couldn't have been another set of footsteps. If it were someone else walking, he'd have known by the sound. Marshall didn't pretend to be smart in that department, but he could tell a smaller threat to a much bigger one.

The much bigger one presented itself a moment later.

He'd known fear a lot of his life. The majority of it, really. Even when he'd conned people out of whatever he could, charmed them into his way, did things for them knowing what they gave back would destroy their lives and enhance his. Even then, with all the good stuff pouring into his life, Marshall had been scared.

Because one mistake and it would all crumble down. Everything he'd built up.

In the Arena, he'd known a new kind of fear. A primal fear that burrowed deep into his bones and moved with his blood, pumping to and fro from his black heart. This was a fear that he'd never experienced before.

A tentacle, long and slippery, grey with a slash of black, slapped the air above his head. The force knocked Marshall onto his back as he slid on the sand and in the water, splashing his hands around as terror clawed through his body.

He watched a dark, yellow eye peer up from the water and another tentacle rise above and come straight for him. At the last second, survival kicked in and the Marshall that had lived in Five and lived in this Arena, killing two people, rolled sideways and dodged the blow.

His next attempt wasn't so lucky.

When it hit him, at first he thought it didn't hurt. And then the tentacle rose again, and with it, peeled half the skin from his thigh. A scream tore its way out of his throat. Blood and muscle and maybe even bone showed itself from the ruin of his leg. He cried, hot tears spilling down his cheeks, as he thought briefly of Acacia's torture at the hand of mutts, and then on his own agony.

Acacia. Cillian. Vallah. Carson. Dominic. They all became irrelevant the moment the tentacle came down, ready to take his life. Marshall mustered all his strength into one last attempt at surviving and moved backwards, digging his elbows in the sand, the skin tearing open as a rock cut through the weak material of his shirt.

There was a tremble in the water. A terrible sound that was muffled underneath its surface. The eye appeared again and then all tentacles came at once, a dozen, fourteen, sixteen or twenty. He couldn't count as they all slapped the sand and one of them connected with his arm.

Marshall had known pain. He'd lived in Five. A shitty place to grow up in and an even shittier place when you actually knew what you were doing. He'd suffered a lot being one of its top players. Because as much as he might have been someone in control, there were always the emotions and people that would slip through his fingers, lost and out of reach.

Marshall was no god. No ruler. Nothing but a boy carrying his life on his shoulders and fighting the world, knowing what he had to do to survive, knowing what it would make him, and doing it anyway.

He'd made friends here. Real, true friends. Something the tribute he had been in the Capitol would never have expected. And now they were all gone. His plan for them to protect him had vanished the moment his heart truly realised what it wanted.

The mutt might have been a second away from killing him, a Gamemaker creation about to claim its victim, but it was his loneliness, his fear and regret, that truly stole his life.

Marshall screamed once more when the tentacle hit his other arm. And then, one quick slap to the face, his entire head was ripped clean and Marshall's cannon sounded in the sky. The final noise to commemorate the boy from Five.

His body was dragged under the water to be consumed. It would never see the light of day again. No one would mourn Marshall Kilbourne. Those that respected him would move on. Those that loathed him from afar might rejoice, or they might feel nothing.

An hour or so later, his face appeared, followed by Eveny's, and that was it.

Two more tributes, lost to the Games.

Eveny's memory would live on, that was a guarantee.

But Marshall, poor Marshall. His memory would fade almost indefinitely.

* * *

_**Eveny Audori, District Seven Female.**_

_**Marshall Kilbourne, District Five Male.**_

* * *

**Sophia. Eveny might have taken a backseat for some of this story, but she always there, remembered by me for what she was. What made Eveny such a great tribute was how normal she was, how friendly she was, how she loved her friends and family and wanted to get back to them. She grew close to Rell and Cillian, but she knew what had to be done and she knew deep down what she would do to make it back to Seven and uphold the promises she'd made. That kind of spirit was admirable and I really respected her for what she was prepared to do. rip Eveny, you were audori-ble ;/**

**JGrayzz. I can say this now, Marshall was one of my favourites from the very start. He was a standout, knowing what had to be done, like others did, but changing for the better, or maybe the worst, with his alliance that he'd wanted to use but grew to love. He wasn't the best kind of person around. Even when he did grow to care for his allies and call them friends, it was clear by killing Acacia that he would always be that boy in Five who would do anything for his life. But he couldn't just move on and forget. The emotions that he went through made him such a joy to write. He was someone I knew from the moment I started his POV, that I'd get lost in it until the end of what I had to say for him. Truly, I'll miss him!**

* * *

_**Who do you think will make it to the final three? (Out of Prosper, Aurelie, Rell, Ryon, Lucas.)  
**_

_**Who do you want to make it?**_

* * *

**Nearing the end now, not long to go!**

**I'll quickly say now, to anyone wanting to submit to Hideaway and hasn't, there is a slim chance I may close submissions early. I might not, but just in case I do, it'd be best to get the submission in as quickly as possible.**

**Anyway, as always, thanks for reading :D**


	28. Timebomb

**Chapter Twenty-Eight.**

* * *

The morning of the eighth day arrived.

With it, Aurelie awoke, stretching out her arms and yawning. The moment she gathered her senses, snapping out from the distraction sleep provided, Aurelie stood up and looked around. The area was quiet. She'd grown to live with the ominous silence that rolled through the Arena, hiding in the shadows, setting her teeth chattering and knees shaking.

The Gamemakers had officially terrified Aurelie. They'd terrified everyone. No one could ever hear what was coming until it fell upon them. In that single split second of realization, the choice presented made or broke a tribute.

It was a certain kind of silence Aurelie adapted to, on the spot, glancing out at the portion of the village she'd found shelter in. She couldn't be exactly certain where she was. Everything seemed to look the same except for one or two differences. One half was slowly filling with water, where the fires that Ivo and Belarius had set had slowly eaten away at the buildings. And the other half she could see the forest flames taunting, but not quite consuming the houses.

She was slap bang in the middle of it all. It sort of represented Aurelie's journey so far. She'd been in the centre of everything – the cause of what had come to pass and what had changed others and herself. For the worse and for the better.

Today was it. She could tell. The atmosphere was practically thick with finality. If her sword were out, she was certain she could slice the air with it. By the evening, there would be no more faces in the sky. The final four cannons would ring out alongside their fallen companions and that would be it. A victor would rise and leave.

The Games would be done.

Aurelie was prepared. This had been her whole life growing up. Proving people wrong, growing into the awful person she had been, and eventually changing disbelief into fear and hatred. Aurelie had lived her life relishing the terror she inflicted. Because it made her feel strong.

Would that be what the others would feel, when they saw her, wherever they were, about to bring the last fight to them? She knew they would. This time, for a while now, it gave her no delight. None of this had. The mental games were one thing, but the physical process of murdering and taking someone's life… that was a whole new game entirely.

One she'd volunteered for willingly.

Too much had happened since then. Too much she could never take back. And she wouldn't. Because it made her who she was now, moving out, setting forwards, into the future and ready for the end. Not a good person. But a better person.

A girl that didn't need to care what other people thought. She no longer needed to lie to herself that any of that mattered. Aurelie was all that mattered. Nothing more, nothing less.

Aurelie eventually came to a crossing: north, south, east and west. She had the choice in where she went, but something told her that the Cornucopia would be her best bet. Where things began and things ended. It always happened there. She gripped onto her sword, pulling it out from the sheath and in her hand.

The spear was clipped to her back, her supplies buried deep in her bag. She had everything she'd need to survive. As scared as Aurelie was, knowing what she was about to do for a fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh time, she didn't stop.

If she second guessed herself, she'd be nothing. And nothing would never come close to who Aurelie was in this life.

A few minutes later, nearing to the edge of the village line, Aurelie heard the first sign that something was wrong. The water round her feet had become natural since the Arena had changed. She splashed around in it and barely heard what she was doing. But this time, it was like a storm was rolling in, a nightmare moving for the tributes.

She saw the first wave crash forwards, through a gap between the houses, and sweep her back. Aurelie grunted and stabbed her sword into the earth, holding herself upright, her blade a crutch to keep her standing, when more water started to flood forwards.

The force at which the water hit the buildings tore them apart completely. Rickety doors fell to splinters, walls that had already been on weak foundations collapsed into nothing and were pulled along with the tide. Aurelie spent another second looking at what the Gamemakers were doing – signifying the end – and ran as fast as she could.

The damage the mutt had done those few short days ago, when Belarius had practically given up, faded away completely. Survival instinct and adrenaline fuelled her focused dash for her life. She rounded corners and took leaps over broken houses and flaming pieces of rubble.

The flood didn't hold back. It continued to work its way through the right hand side of the Arena, demolishing anything and everything in its path. Luckily for Aurelie, she was nearing the end of the village and the beginning of the first area.

There she knew she'd be safe from the Gamemaker's fury. Instead, she'd be trading one danger for a whole new other. The wrath of outliers, who hated the Careers, and wanted to win to prove everyone wrong.

Maybe that was even scarier.

Aurelie closed the gap between her and the last house, central to the way forwards, and saw something out the corner of her eyes. For a moment, she tensed up completely. But then a weak sort of noise, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, shattered the silence and poured forth from her lips.

Prosper looked at her, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. He was breathing hard, holding onto a stitch in his side as his eyes found Aurelie's.

For a moment, she remembered what Prosper had become, what she'd driven him towards, and guilt wiped out the need to defend herself. But then she realised there was no need. He was the human representation of everything that was wrong with Aurelie. And instead of attacking her, he took three short strides and wrapped both arms round her chest, embracing her with a cry.

"I'm so sorry…"

Aurelie could feel her eyes watering. She never caved, giving in to everything. She wrapped her own arms round Prosper, only for a second, when she remembered what was following them and what they had to do.

"We need to end this," Aurelie sighed, gesturing to the Cornucopia and what would be awaiting them. "If we don't, they will."

"We?" Prosper took a step back and eyed the sword in her hands. If he thought she was going to kill him here and now, he was completely off the mark. That would come later. She couldn't bring herself to kill Prosper… not yet…

"If the others were smart, and to get this far they have to be, they'll have teamed up against us. We're the last remaining Careers," Aurelie bit her lip, "that means something to them. It has to mean something to us. When they're gone, we'll deal with what has to come…"

"But together, before…?"

"Together," Aurelie said, nodding with a smile.

The two of them stood, side by the side, the water ruining the Arena behind them, and took a step forwards.

Soon, the Games would come to an end.

* * *

"They're coming."

Rell's voice took on a whole new tone. Her bloody nose, the pain that had consumed her fight, the realization of the truth about the tomb deteriorating her sense of fire, became nothing as the grip round her sword tightened.

Ryon's fearful eyes followed where Rell was looking. Lucas did the same, lingering near the back, behind the two of them, higher up the hill. The three of them, one in front of the other, on an incline, cast their eyes on the fight that was moving towards them.

But before that, a startled gasp broke Rell's newfound stillness as she pointed with a shaky finger towards the village. The water had destroyed everything, rising above the roofs. But that wasn't the only thing. Tentacles swarmed up into the sky as the water carried a mutt over the buildings.

Fire came sweeping from the forest, totalling the left hand side of the Arena, devastating everything in its path.

Lucas' skin went paler. This had been his creation after all – a fire he'd brought forth from an idea at the back of his mind. An idea that might have or might not have done a thing for anyone. He watched the blaze tear through everything until it met the water and the two devastating forces clashed, above the rubble of the village.

"Oh my…" Ryon, Rell and Lucas watched the tentacles lash out at something moving through the air, alongside the tendrils of fire that whipped the sky. Something travelled with the smoke, its entire body sheathed in black. Until the three of them realised it was the very smoke itself that made up the mutt's body. A horrible shroud of black that attacked the tentacles, clawing at the pores and drawing inky blood that mingled with the flood.

A great battle went on in the Arena, mutt versus mutt, when Aurelie and Prosper stepped from behind the Cornucopia and stood, side by side, in front of the three of them.

"Whatever happens, I've got your backs," Rell said, her voice barely above a whisper, her entire body tense and prepared.

Ryon nodded. "Us versus them. We can do this."

Lucas remained silent.

Him or them. For now it was together, but soon… soon he'd do whatever had to be done.

This was the beginning of the end game.

He'd do anything to win.

* * *

Prosper and Aurelie exchanged one look, standing next to each other in front of their three opponents on the hill.

In that look, they knew what to do and didn't waste any time doing it. Rell, Ryon and Lucas watched their strongest opposition, the sole cause of their late alliance, friendship having no place in their dynamic, and waited for them to make the first move.

Prosper stepped to the right, Aurelie to the left. And then they waited.

Ryon was nervous. Not just nervous, he was terrified. But despite his fear, he'd already killed and lived with it, stomaching the guilt he'd felt. If he could take the life of Adrina, someone from his home, he was pretty sure he'd bear the consequences of attempting to murder someone who had voluntarily chosen to do the same thing.

Ryon looked at Rell, in front of him, and nodded when she looked for support from her two allies. Lucas didn't meet her eyes, his entire focus on Aurelie and Prosper, waiting. They weren't making the first move of attack. It would have to be them.

Ryon, Rell and Lucas. Whether they were hopeless or not in their attack, they were determined, and determination would have to be enough. They had nothing else.

The moment Rell took the first step, Aurelie brought her hand back and launched her spear in the air. At that moment, everything kicked into action. Rell and Ryon dived one way, facing Aurelie, and Lucas went the other, in the direction of Prosper.

Her spear grazed the sand and landed harmlessly. Lucas had his own spear in his hand. Prosper watched the boy with cautious eyes as he slowly made his way down the sand. On the other side, he spent a second looking at Ryon and Rell, and cast them from his mind.

They had to do their bit and kill Aurelie, or this alliance was for nothing. Lucas would try. Prosper was a Career and in the final five for a reason. But so was Lucas, and so were Ryon and Rell. They had to have something to warrant their survival.

"It's not like we have a choice," Prosper said, a sad frown on his face.

Lucas took another step, breaching the gap between the two, and shook his head. "We didn't. You did. I wish I wouldn't feel anything over what I want to do, but maybe that's the difference between you and I. Even though I'm prepared to kill you, I don't even want to."

"Neither do I. Neither does Aurelie."

Lucas' eyebrows furrowed with a momentary slip in his calm disposition. Anger radiated off his face. "Then don't volunteer. You gave up your right to not want to kill the moment you ran to that damn stage."

He wasn't sure where all his fury came from, but it was enough to drive him forwards. Prosper's spear met Lucas' spear in a clash of metal that rang out and echoed off the Cornucopia. As the two boys exerted themselves to their fullest and truest potential, locked in a battle of strength and will, Ryon and Rell stood adjacent to one another, with Aurelie closing the distance between them.

Rell was petrified. This was Aurelie Bauden, the District Two Female. The girl everyone believed would win. The girl who would still probably win. Scoring the highest score, killing the most no doubt, there was no one else to beat above her.

But Rell had started this process with conviction, and she wouldn't give up even in the face of their strongest living opponent.

Ryon felt something similar and lashed out with a fist when Aurelie went to block Rell's sword swipe for her face. She took the blow in the cheek and gritted her teeth to cope with the pain. She struck with her hand out at Ryon, pushing him onto his back, and with a kick she caught him in the shin. It stunned him enough for Aurelie to round completely on Rell.

She raised her sword to match Rell's and then swiped down to catch her in the stomach. Rell had no hope of besting her talent with a weapon. Instead, she held her breath, tried to jump back, and tripped over her own feet.

Rell rolled on top of Ryon to dodge her stab downwards. He helped hoist her up by pushing her off him, and together they made it onto their feet before Aurelie could skewer Rell through the back. Over their own grunts of pain and heavy panting, they could hear the ringing of metal as Prosper and Lucas dished blow after blow.

Prosper was strong, Lucas no doubt couldn't best his weaponry skills. But their journeys had been different. Prosper had started to crack the moment the Games had really begun. Lucas had tried his hardest to remain as strong as he'd ever been. In a mental game, Lucas had won. It helped defend himself from the more physical game they were currently locked in.

Apart from the tell-tale sounds of swords clashing with spears, a horrible silence hung thick near the Cornucopia. Even the monstrous battle as two mutts fought one another, fell to a calm as the attention went solely on the battle near the Cornucopia.

From start to finish, things would be decided here.

Ryon grabbed Rell by the waist and propelled her round him, protecting her from a blow that would have decapitated her, bringing his own sword up to block the blow. Before Aurelie could pull back, he swung his backpack round her face and clubbed her in the cheek with something heavy that rang out as it hit her skull.

Aurelie moaned with pain and let her lips quirk up into an angry snarl. "Make it easier on yourself." She attacked again. "I can make this quick for you!"

"We aren't just going to roll over and die," Ryon stabbed out, awkwardly missing her shoulder and grazing the air, "you don't deserve an easy ride."

Lucas hated Prosper. Rell and Ryon hated Aurelie. Purely because of what they represented and what they did. All the talk of understanding fell apart from Rell's mind now that they were together. She'd tried to see it from their perspective, but now being face to face, having to dodge rather than throw an attack in because she'd die instantly, made her see it for what it always had been.

Wrong.

And it would keep on being wrong.

Rell watched Lucas slip back and get to his feet quickly, Prosper bending his back to dodge a slash for his throat and kneeing Lucas in the crotch. The two boys were forced into a fist fight when Aurelie started to grow wilder by the second.

Her determination was something Rell stored inside, but could never hope to have with her skill in a weapon. Ryon tried to stab her and she'd beat him back, hoping he'd trip over his feet as she turned her attention on Rell. They were growing more tried by the second, only for Aurelie's focus to intensify.

"Rell…" Ryon's fear replaced his fight. His watery eyes made Rell's heart shatter as he tried to fend Aurelie off. It worked for a few more seconds. But the inevitable always caught up with everyone. "Rell… I can't…"

His swipe for her shoulder missed completely. Aurelie deflected it off, caught her sword in her other hand, and went under his next attack and pierced his stomach. The blade hit skin, muscle, organ and then the spine as it impaled him straight through.

Rell screamed. She didn't care for how she came across, her fire and fight, as Ryon's body fell from the sword and rolled down the hill. Rell blinked, grief clogging her throat, as she turned around and scrambled upwards to get away.

Ryon's now lifeless body tripped Aurelie up for a second, delaying her advance as Rell's fingers clawed through the sand, trying her hardest to stabilize herself.

Ryon shouldn't have been anything to her. He wasn't. But… but the fight had gone so quickly. In the face of the truth, they were nothing more than pigs to the slaughter. There was no conceivable way they could beat Aurelie. And now Ryon was dead because of that awful fact.

Lucas was doing the exact same, turning tail and moving up the hill. He'd seen what had happened to Ryon, listening as his cannon trembled through the sky, and ran to re-join Rell. Maybe a joint attack would kill one of them.

And then…

_No. _He couldn't think about that. Lucas had spent his entire life focusing on the negative, using that so he could make it somewhere, because it was always smarter to realise the worst thing that could happen and work with that. Rather than hope for the best; that had been his purpose.

But he knew he could live. He wanted to live. If he focused on dying, when death was a second away from splitting his skull in two, then he would die. And he couldn't. Rell couldn't. Prosper and Aurelie didn't want to. There was no difference, but Lucas' will had to set him apart.

He watched Aurelie catch up to Rell, and as his fearful shout came out strangled and quiet, Aurelie dragged her sword along the back of Rell's legs. It cut through skin and muscle, leaving Rell a whimpering mess on the ground as she moved closer and closer to Lucas.

Aurelie didn't move. Prosper re-joined her and the two of them watched, together, as Rell staggered onto her feet in front of Lucas.

She fell, then stood up, then fell again. Finally, she made it up one last time to look over her shoulder at Lucas.

"I won't… I won't give up…" She looked at Ryon's body, dead at the base of the hill.

If she gave up, he'd died for nothing. Cillian had died for nothing. Eveny. All of them. Everyone had died for nothing if a girl like Rell simply let herself fall without fighting.

Pain or no pain, she would never cave.

Lucas saw what was happening to his ally. His temporary ally. He saw better than anything else. Their alliance had been nothing more than a means to an end, and that end hadn't come about. Reality had been a punch to the face, a split second moment where they knew they had no hope.

Rell had no hope.

Injured, frantic, scared… there was nothing more she could for herself.

There was nothing more she could do for Lucas.

"We can… we will…" Her words were cut off when Lucas dragged his knife along her throat. From behind, she didn't even see it coming. One second, deluded hope became everything to Rell, a second later, her body turned to nothing more than a dead weight that rolled down the hill to join Ryon's.

"You killed her," Aurelie stated, devoid of emotion.

"We teamed up so we could benefit from one another in a fight against you two," Lucas could feel tears prickling in his eyes. He didn't wipe the knife clean. He let it slip from his fingers and disappear as he kicked it away. "She was basically dead. Better a quick death…"

"I would have made it quick."

Lucas had nothing else to say to that.

He stood, opposite Prosper and Aurelie, and held onto his spear with new purpose. The final three had been announced. Everything had fallen into place.

He wanted to feel proud, but all he felt at the moment was a hollowness, following what he'd just done. A dull sort of numb ringing in his ears that blocked the frantic sound of his heartbeat pounding inside his ribcage.

Then his eyes settled on something in the village, and fear became everything. Prosper and Aurelie followed his finger as the three of them witnessed, united in terror, as reborn villagers moved from the fire and water towards them.

They formed an audience, one single line that cut them off from anywhere else but this area. Drowned villagers wrapped in seaweed with wrinkled, pallid skin where patches of it fell off and dangled in the breeze. And from the fire, burning villagers with flames from head to toe.

"Those outside aren't the only ones who want a show," Aurelie observed, frowning.

"Then we have to give them one," Prosper looked up to Lucas, "ready?"

The boy from Twelve shrugged. "As ready as I'll ever be."

It was time for the victor to be decided.

* * *

_**Ryon Blythe, District Six Male.**_

_**Rell Arlington, District Three Female.**_

* * *

**Sam. Ugh, Ryon. Whereas some people might not have originally liked him, I still remember writing his first pre-reaping POV and from then on I was sold with his character. I liked his more cynical, negative, blunt and even sometimes rude attitude towards others. But he was another realistic character with the way he went about his life. And then when he started to grow in the Capitol and then the Arena, one of the only tributes to openly show and adapt to a real state of fear he felt, there was something special there that made me realise he would make it far. He was another tribute willing to do what had to be done, even going so far as to kill his District partner, but he always had fight in him and tried his absolute best. Thanks for sending him in!**

**Liquidation. Now that she's dead, I feel like I'm allowed to tell you that she was my favourite female tribute. Yeah, honestly, I couldn't get enough of Rell. As it's been bought up a lot, she was bold, fun, energetic, caring, friendly, but also with a great realistic outlook on life that didn't stop her from being a more open individual. She had her own brand of intelligence which was another thing I really enjoyed about her character, and overall the way she worked with her friends, other tributes, and Ryon and Lucas at the end… yeah, I'm grateful for you sending her in. Thank you!**

* * *

_**Preferred victor?**_

_**Who do you think will win?**_

* * *

**And that's it, everyone. The finale has been announced. Congratulations to the submitters and of course the tributes: Prosper, Aurelie and Lucas!**

**With this chapter, I would never have dragged on the fight to an unrealistic point. Aurelie and Prosper were two Careers. Yeah, even with a genius plan like Rell's, they didn't have much hope. **

**Let's just see how Lucas fares against the two of them xD (I don't even know what I have planned for the next chapter, ok. I thought I had a victor decided but now… no idea…)**

**The end of the Games coming up next chapter!**


	29. Moments

**Chapter Twenty-Nine.**

* * *

_This should be easy._

Lucas almost smiled at the absurdity. Realistically, he was already dead. If anything else, standing here opposite Prosper and Aurelie, pretending he had a chance, was only delaying the inevitable. But maybe that was all he'd been doing since coming here. Delaying what would always be the outcome, ever since he'd been reaped.

Had he ever had a chance? He'd liked to believe he did. A Career from One to a kid from Twelve, everyone had an opportunity and Lucas had made the most of it. He'd done whatever had to be done. And now he was against two Careers.

If he was going to survive, he'd have to do things a different way. But maybe, with sheer luck and determination, he could pull it off.

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

_Maybe I can survive… for her, for them… for me…_

Prosper was scared. He was scared because if he wanted to make it out alive, Aurelie and Lucas would have to die. He didn't know Lucas any more than he knew the other two that had died minutes ago. But he knew what Lucas thought of him. On some level, he knew he'd fought against what he had to say, judging him for being a Career, because it made Prosper delude himself even further.

But he was past the point of thinking anything else. He was everything Lucas said. But that didn't mean he had never cared. He always had. And he really didn't want to kill him, not before this realization, and not anytime soon, now that he understood the way everything was in reality.

And then there was Aurelie. He'd liked her. He'd hated her. He'd wanted to kill her. And now he wanted to save her. But that was impossible. Trust, he might have towards her, knowing the change that had become of Aurelie. The will to die so she could live? He wasn't so sure. He wanted to live. But he didn't want her to die.

He had no idea what was going to happen.

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

_And now the end begins._

Aurelie felt proud. She felt proud and she felt guilty, all her emotions wrapped up like a gift, a bow on top, buried just underneath the surface. No one had believed in her growing up. And to start with, she'd never believed in who she was either. And then she'd become the person that had ruined Prosper's life, Luella's life, and so many others.

Aurelie glanced at Prosper, who in turn was staring up the hill, eyes locked with Lucas. No one knew what to do, knowing the Games were about to end in one, five, ten or twenty minutes time. Aurelie had killed Ryon. As awful an action that might have been, it was needed so she could win. After all she'd done, all she'd hated about others and herself, and the new Aurelie that had emerged, she had to have what it took to survive this final leg in her journey.

The problem was Prosper. There had been a time where she'd wanted to kill him. Had almost driven her spear into his heart, a time where she could have easily moved on. Now, after the guilt practically being on par with her determination to succeed, she couldn't envisage, even now, the idea of killing Prosper any longer.

She had to be strong about it. She had to think about the end of this all and what she could manage outside this Arena. If she could piece together her emotions and make something better of herself, maybe she could force herself to kill him.

Maybe as a Victor, she could be a better person than she'd ever thought possible.

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

"Well then," Lucas arched an eyebrow, spear in hand.

"We've got quite the crowd," Aurelie replied.

"And we all know what they want," Prosper held his spear with as much courage as he could muster. Hadn't courage been everything to him, once upon a time? Now courage felt a laughable concept. There was only fear. The Arena wiped out everything else.

Aurelie didn't want to make the first move. Not just because it would label her as the one, out of the final three, ready to kill first. But mainly because something was holding her back. Disbelief that she'd made it this far? She doubted that very much.

If she was ever going to find out the answer to what had become her new self, she had to get this over and done with. Lucas had his eyes set on their every move, every trace of emotion, in their eyes and on their lips. Anything that would give their future actions away.

It just so happened, as Aurelie's lips slipped downwards into a frown, Lucas saw just what he needed. She raised her sword and took the first step, just as Lucas ran backwards, up the hill, maintaining his balance, and straight to the top.

_I can't beat two Careers. Not unless there's a gun hiding behind one of those pedestals. _That would be a rather boring end, for the Capitol, no doubt. Two bullets to the skull and the poor kid from Twelve would win over two fully-fledged Careers. What an ending!

He had no time for what-ifs. He could hear the two of them being forced into action, gaining speed and traction on the sand. Lucas observed the two of them from in front of the pedestal closest, where a tribute had once stood eight days ago, and didn't waste a single second.

He had a knife clipped to his belt. He supposed it would have been too good to be true for it to hit its target on the first try. When it whistled past Aurelie's ear, slicing open the tiniest trace of skin, Lucas carried along the top and started to move for the bottom.

_Coward! Stand and fight! How did he make it this far?! _He could practically hear the rage festering within the Capitol. But he'd played it smart ever since coming here. If they thought he would charge into Prosper and Aurelie with hope and optimism as his way of believing he would survive, then they didn't know him very well.

"He's not going to give us a straight up fight," Aurelie followed him along the summit of the hill, with Prosper tagging behind, "he wants us to throw our weapons at him, and then if they miss, he'll have one and we won't."

Prosper had his entire mind so in tune to what was going on around him, he barely even heard what Aurelie had to offer on Lucas' actions. There were two ways this would end. With Prosper dead, everything he'd grown up as, everything he'd done here, and everything he'd become, turning into irrelevance and forgotten memories.

The thought scared him more than death.

But then there was the idea of winning. And for that, the girl in front of him, jogging steadily, with her sword in hand, would have to die. For half their time in the Arena, he'd wanted to be the one to see the life drain from her eyes. He had been the monster in those stories, the monsters heroes would triumph over and come out victorious.

Only now, Prosper had managed to build a bridge between who he was before, and who he was now. No one said that he couldn't care and regret and tear himself up with guilt over his actions, but still play the part of the Career. He could love others and still be their Victor.

But Aurelie had to die.

On the very end of the sand hill, Lucas finally took a right and made his way down the decline, towards the level ground where the Cornucopia was centred. Aurelie silently praised his actions. Way back when, he'd have been nothing more than a fearless roach under her shoe, scattering away because he couldn't stand and fight.

Now he was a tribute, using the only thing he could against two Careers. Distance would keep him alive. But he couldn't stay alive forever. Not if she hoped in something after this Arena. Where her wrongs could be made right, on whatever level she could create.

"Move further down, cut him off before he reaches the Cornucopia!" Her voice reached a volume that mirrored the Aurelie in control after the bloodbath. An Aurelie she didn't want to return to. Still, she had power, power that would never go away, and Prosper blinked from his thoughts and nodded.

As the boy from One did as he was commanded, Aurelie maintaining the chase to the end of the hill, Lucas' heart started to prickle with fear as Prosper came closer and closer to the bottom. If he didn't close the gap between where he was and the Cornucopia, Prosper would bar his way towards the supplies and back the way he'd ran.

His stamina was fading. But the stitch and pain anyone else might have felt became nothing with adrenaline and fear for his life pushing him onwards. Lucas sprinted as fast as he could, spear going up and down in his hand, slashing the air, as he tried to close the distance.

Prosper reached the bottom. Lucas lashed out before he could control the situation. His fist weakly smacked against Prosper's cheek. It distracted him enough for Lucas to curve away from his first attack with his spear, and then towards the golden horn.

He had space between where he was, the villagers forming a deathly quiet crowd behind them, and the direction back up the hill where the chase could continue on and on.

_But it can't forever…_

He tried to stomach the pessimism. The negativity. Those realizations that had become second nature with Lucas, from the moment he'd realised the truth about Twelve and the world, to the boy that had survived to the finale of the Hunger Games.

"I wouldn't step too far back," Prosper warned, holding his bruised cheek where Lucas' fist had hit, "they might get you."

"Better them than you."

Prosper laughed, a sad, sorrowful sound. "You don't really believe that. Better a quick death than a-" He cut himself off.

_Better a quick death? Really…? _There was no better about it. Death was death. The end was the end. And he'd given that to Varity and Garner. He'd seen it happen to other people he'd cared for, more than the world itself.

"Can't even finish a sentence?" Lucas tried to maintain a sense of calm, but he could see Aurelie bridging the gap from where she had been following him. "I'd rather not give you the satisfaction of killing me."

Before Prosper could reply, Lucas darted forwards and brought the point of his spear towards his face. Prosper jumped back, swiftly deflected one more attack with his own spear, and twirled it round his arm and smacked Lucas round the cheek with the wooden end.

His entire face exploded with pain. Through the daze, he saw Aurelie getting closer and closer. Lucas tried to shake his eyes clear, the agony like knives in his skin.

Prosper didn't do anything as he started to curve round, back towards the hill where they'd started the confrontation. Aurelie placed a hand on Prosper's shoulder, a split second gesture he noticed all the same, and watched her give pursuit and stop when she picked up a knife from the sand.

A knife coated with Rell's blood.

"I'm sorry," Aurelie threw it towards Lucas, fleeing up the hill. "This is the way it has to go."

It hit him straight in the shoulder, somewhere above the ribs, and Lucas went down in a screech of pain. He tried to make it back onto his legs, but the pain was almost totally consuming, wiping out everything as his eyes dimmed, then brightened, then dimmed again.

Aurelie didn't move. Prosper didn't move. They watched the poor boy twist and turn as he tried to piece himself back together. On some level, the two Careers hoped he would. It would be like putting down a wounded dog if he didn't, whimpering in pain as it tried to continue its fight.

They stood, Prosper behind Aurelie, waiting for something.

Each had a desire to live. Each had something holding them back. Aurelie had the girl of her past, haunting her in the shadows. Prosper had the boy he had been, the boy he hated, but the new boy he always wanted to continue as even after the Games had corrupted him. And then Lucas, fighting for his life, doing everything that had to be done, but knowing after it all, something would go wrong.

Nothing had happened to him yet. Which would only make the end so much worse.

Prosper made a decision first. The worst kind of decision. _My life, or theirs. _He had Luella, circling in front of his eyes. He had Darina, Belarius and Ivo. He had Varity and Garner, ghosts that would never leave him. And he had himself, at the centre of it all.

If he died, they became nothing.

Lucas was smart. Aurelie was smart. But Prosper could be smart too. The boy from Twelve was on the verge of unconsciousness. When he died, he would have to fight Aurelie, tiring, but still ready for a fight.

And then he would die.

_But not if I… _His eyes lit up with tears when his own hand moved for her shoulder. Aurelie relaxed into it, the roles reversed, hatred from the beginning turning to trust for the boy she had condemned with her actions. She cared for him. Like he cared for her.

And then the spear went through her back, out from her stomach, and all of that became nothing.

Lucas watched with terror and agony in his eyes as Aurelie's lips opened, her eyes went wide, and she tried to turn to face Prosper.

The boy from One held her when she fell. He said nothing as the biggest enemy to anyone, the biggest threat, the girl to beat in the Games, died in Prosper's arms. When her cannon shot through the sky, Prosper stood up and wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.

"It was…"

Lucas coughed up blood and smirked. "Kill her, you get an easy kill. Let her kill me, you die. Smart."

Prosper started to walk towards Lucas.

"And now I guess you want to me to lie down and…" He was up before Prosper could close the distance. A final, last minute burst of defiance went straight through Lucas, from head to toe, compelling everything that made him who he was to not go down. Not now. Not after everything.

District Twelve had a chance. People like him, people that knew reality for what it was, were willing to do the things others would back away from… they deserved to live. He had to live. Otherwise… otherwise he became… _I can't just become another one… another fallen tribute… forgotten…_

He charged towards Prosper, ducked under his spear blow, blood pouring profusely from the wound in his shoulder, and headed straight for the villagers.

Prosper continued to run after him. He'd killed Aurelie. He'd betrayed a friend. But that didn't mean he could die now. Not… not after…

He saw their faces, somewhere at the front of his mind, and used their support and what they'd left behind in life, to move him towards Lucas. He was faster than the wounded boy from Twelve. And when he realised what Lucas was trying to do, Prosper let it happen.

_Because the Gamemakers would never let a finale end without me, or Lucas, getting the last kill._

Lucas moved to the right just as Prosper neared him. He fell into the rotten arms of the villagers. But instead of pulling him under, ripping him apart, stabbing and killing him, the very thing Lucas had hoped for. Instead of that, they pushed him back towards Lucas with as much energy as they could muster.

Lucas charged with his own spear, a dead weight in his hands. Fighting until the end, even on the brink of collapse. Prosper charged with his spear, the memories of everyone pushing him on, and the hope for a better life afterwards. A killer, a Victor, but a good person. Where a life like that was possible.

Lucas' spear cut into Prosper's arm, tearing the flesh from the muscle.

Prosper's spear pierced Lucas' heart, killing him instantly.

When his body fell, Prosper fell with it. On the ground, looking up at the darkened sky, the faces of Luella, Belarius, Aurelie, Ivo, Darina, Varity, Garner and even Lucas, dead next to him, became the stars in the night. The moon had gone. The light had gone. Everything tried to replace his world with darkness.

But the memories of his friends and the fallen would forever be a part of him. Because that was who Prosper had to be. Not someone who broke apart. But someone who was made whole. No more impossible Prosper. No more hurt Prosper. No more Prosper the monster. Not even Prosper the hero – an impossible delusion.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the Victor of the Sixtieth Hunger Games. Prosper Livingston – the tribute of District One!"_

He was this Prosper.

And maybe, now that he was alive, nothing could be worse.

He was Prosper the Victor.

* * *

_**Aurelie Bauden, District Two Female.**_

_**Lucas Roux, District Twelve Male.**_

* * *

**Megan. Aurelie. Babe. Honestly, it was really hard to kill her. Even before she became a better person, the girl that had a pre-reaping POV, basically tore apart the Careers, and created so much conflict, made it up to my favourites. I loved the fact that yes, she wasn't a nice person, but underneath it all she was always vulnerable and there was always a need to be strong. The alternative was impossible to live with for Aurelie. And then this Aurelie that started to develop, she was still strong, she still was proud, she still wanted to survive, but she was realising the errors of her way and that's why she came this far. Megan, you always provide me with such complex tributes that can go through so much development, Aurelie was a brilliant example. Sad to see her go!**

**Jalen. Another babe. I don't just like the tributes that come into the Arena far from the ideal candidate for making it too long in the Games, but I love those that understand how things have to go and fight through their own morality and emotions for the sake of surviving. That's who Lucas was. Sure, he was a bit judgmental, a little uptight, not the easiest person to deal with. But through his journey, I got to experience a guy who was a real game changer, the way he dealt not only with the idea of a friend in Adrina, but what he had to do for himself and fight against. It would have been hard for him against two Careers, and even with another part of him that stood out, his intelligence, giving him a plan against them, it would have been hard for him to make it past both Aurelie and Prosper. Still, this proves not all District Twelve tributes have to be cast off as bloodbaths straight away. Thank you for submitting him!**

**Sofia. can't really call him deadston anymore ;/ he is very much LIVINGston now, so yay go Prosper! In all seriousness, though, I'm really pleased I settled on him as victor. It was such a hard decision, this time round. I really wanted a male victor for Lonely Hour, but then there was Aurelie who I adored. And obviously Lucas who I kept going between. But in the end, it had to be Prosper. Based alone on what he's had to go through in the Arena, he deserved to make it out alive. But alongside all of that, he's had some really great development without ever totally losing who he was. He's gone between different sides of himself, but with every single transition, it always showed the true Prosper underneath it all. A decent human being who cared about other people. He's had some of the best dynamics with other tributes, not just Luella, but with Aurelie, the other Careers, even the tributes he killed, there was always something in Prosper that shone. Deluded as hell from the beginning, I knew he would change, but the main thing about development is that it doesn't totally wipe clean the original idea behind a tribute, and in my opinion, that's what I love about this new Prosper. He's not deluded, but he's still that guy. I love him, I love you Sofia for sending in him, and I love the fact I chose him to make it to the end. He's been through hell, but here he is, alive! Thank you so much ;***

* * *

_**Are you happy with who won in the end?**_

_**Overall, taking everything into consideration, who was your favourite tribute in this story?**_

_**Favourite alliance?**_

_**Favourite death scene?**_

* * *

**Aaand that's it, the finale for Lonely Hour!**

**It feels weird, seeing the back of these Games. I've loved this, so so much. The change in format was probably the best decision I could have made, writing wise. Even though my Games are always around 11-12 chapters, I got to do so much more with these tributes because I wasn't confined to a strict POV count.**

**Yeah, I hope you all enjoyed the fact I changed things up this time round. I think it paid off!**

**Congratulations, again, to Prosper for winning. And of course, felicitea/Sofia for submitting him to this story! He'll be a mentor in Hideaway, so maybe you'll get to see him again after this story's conclusion :D**

**One more chapter to go, then that'll be it! Let me know your thoughts. I've loved writing these Games and the tributes. From Prosper to Acacia, they were all great, all had their own story to tell, and all deserved their place in Lonely Hour. It's sad to see all but one gone.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	30. Friendship

**Chapter Thirty.**

* * *

**Epilogue.**

* * *

**Prosper Livingston, 18 years old;  
District One Male.**

* * *

He was piecing his life back together, stone by stone, brick by brick.

Before the Games, District One had been a special place to Prosper. A place of wonder and spectacle, marvel and love. Now, because of the Games, he came back after a week in the Capitol to the truth behind his home. Reality was a harsh pill to swallow, but he did so with a smile on his face, and vowed to make something of what had become of his fellow people.

Prosper had changed into something in the Arena that he didn't want anyone else to suffer through. He lived with the nightmares because they reminded him of who he had been and who he was now. He laughed through the horrors. He cheered himself up whenever the darkness seemed more inviting than the light.

He forgave his father. Hate was easier than love, but he hadn't won the Hunger Games to settle for what was simple. He welcomed his father into his new home and had all his old books brought with him. A library was constructed. District One and all its eager trainees were enough to remind Prosper of the foolish kid he had once been, but these books were the gateway he had created all his life, between reality and fantasy.

Someone else might burn them. But like he'd embraced his father, he cherished the words and pictures and lies. He'd read the stories that had made him believe in something that was never possible. Heroes didn't always triumph over evil, but neither did the bad always outweigh the good. When it came to settling back into normal life, as normal as it could possibly be, he stuck to the vow he'd made in the Games to find the balance between being that good person, but being the boy who had fought and survived.

As long as both pieces fell into place, however bumpy the road before him would be, Prosper would be able to smile, and laugh, and love and have the smallest traces of hope, still blossoming inside his heart. The Games changed some people. And they had changed Prosper, but he could still look at the sky, the sun and the birds and be that kid who thought the Games would be the easiest of things.

When it came to thinking of his lost friends, however, it was harder for Prosper. Sometimes he would cry. Sometimes he would tuck himself away when the harshest of memories attacked him. As weeks turned into months, he started to see their faces, not just in his nightmares, and remember everything that had once been before their deaths. Who they were and who they had become.

He'd sworn, once upon a time, to protect the people he loved. Even when protecting them meant his own death. And in someways, even though he was alive and they were all gone, he could still uphold that. He could remember them, love them, and do something for them even if he could never see them again.

A new Academy was opened when the one Prosper had trained at was burnt down. As the newest Victor, he was given the chance to name it. And so, a few days later, he cut the ribbon to mark the opening of 'Bauden Academy.' Aurelie cherished strength above all else. Here, they would train the strongest, in hopes that some of them might make it back alive.

He couldn't stop the way of the Careers. But he could at least help them. He could do his best for those volunteering, all under Aurelie's name. A good person, even when he and everyone else thought otherwise.

Prosper sent money to District Four, through one of the Victors, to help the Koehn family out of poverty. Ivo had volunteered for reasons that only he would know, but Prosper knew that he loved his mother and father, and had risked his life for them. His sacrifice was not in vain. They worked their way out from the gutter and with Prosper's help, Ivo's memory lived on in their newer, happier life.

Diana Orleans, the Peacekeeper who had loved Belarius more than anyone, was given a chance to protect people without having to bend under the corruption of the Capitol. Her family had never truly loved her. Belarius had been her only friend, and with his death, Prosper gave her life new meaning when he welcomed her into One and she was given a place in the harsher parts of his District. She was an honourable person, like Belarius was, deep down, and she used her new life to help those who couldn't help themselves.

For Darina, her family were well off enough to not need help. But he did do the one thing he could do for his friend from Four. Soon enough, people would forget Darina, when another Games rolled around and more people died, brushing her name under the carpet forever. He stopped Theina, her best friend, from volunteering. He saved her from making the same mistake Prosper and Darina had made, and because of that, there was someone else who would forever remember the girl that had tried to make something of her alliance when the odds were stacked against such a thing.

And then it came to Luella.

Prosper had killed to protect her from Varity. Prosper had killed to protect her from herself. And then Luella had died to save Aurelie. He'd hated himself and still did, on some level, for not seeing such a girl home, away from a place that had tortured her until she'd passed on.

A few months before the next reaping, Prosper found himself in front of the Aslett household.

He cleared his throat and knocked on the door. Luella had told him a lot, during the Capitol, about her life at home. About her sisters. About her parents. About everyone she'd come into contact with. He'd believed every lie hidden behind her smile. He'd thought, just like she did, that there had been nothing wrong with the environment she'd grown up in.

But he had learnt the truth, with his head clear and mind focused. His final act of protecting his best friend began today.

When Mrs Aslett answered the door, Prosper was invited inside. From that day onwards, Adelina and Rienna Aslett, Luella's sisters, the only people who had tried to stop Luella, were given support from Prosper after her death. They were given a place to stay if they couldn't cope. Food and money if they ever needed it. Love when they couldn't find it.

It was the least Prosper could do for two girls that had loved their sister, more than anyone else in this world.

He had one more stop to make that day.

Prosper had never been a violent person. Before the Games, he'd never been anything but an idealistic fool who couldn't see the truth in anything. And now that he was back, after everything he'd done to save himself and others, he realised that sometimes what the reality of the Hunger Games had taught him, could be put to good use.

Prosper found their little hideout somewhere in the alleyways of One. The second Victor Livingston was seen, everyone but the person he wanted to see, scattered and fled.

Luella had loved this boy more than anything. Her kind heart had made it impossible for her to see what he was really was and the path he'd led her down.

Things changed today.

"Arion?"

He'd been so in control over everyone. He thought he practically owned the world and that everyone would do as he said because he had the power.

Luella was dead. Prosper was alive. Sometimes, he didn't get what he wanted.

He apologised. He cried. He did everything he could do to make himself believe that he wasn't the worst kind of person to have ever entered Luella's life.

"It's alright," Prosper smiled, laughing, "You weren't the person Luella thought you were, you didn't protect her, you didn't love her."

And then he punched him, square in the face. "But I did."

Sometimes, he believed the Games had been a blessing in the most awful of disguises. Today was one of those days. Prosper then and Prosper now, two sides of the same coin, two good people, two people that would have done anything for anyone.

Now, he'd live his life for everyone that was gone, everyone he'd loved, and he'd do it with no regrets. If he could manage that, their lost lives would mean something.

For as long as Prosper was alive, every single day would be lived for them.

Luella. Belarius. Aurelie. Ivo. Darina.

He would never forget his friends.

* * *

**And that's the last chapter folks!**

**A shorter epilogue, but this turned out how I wanted it to. Prosper had more to do with his new life back home than he did in the Capitol, straight after the Games.**

**Another thank you and congratulations to Sofia – felicitea – for submitting the victor to this story. It's been a blast to write him from the very beginning to the very end. **

**And of course, a massive thank you to everyone else who submitted, favourited, followed, read, reviewed, whatever. It means a great deal :)**

**Goodbye Lonely Hour!**


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